Intrepid
by revolution.now
Summary: [For some reason, unknown to her, she reached for his hand. Warm fingers engulfed her smaller ones and she squeezed; a promise. To the Gladers, to him, to herself. "There is always a way out."] Minho/OC. Slow burn.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Prologue**

She was burning.

There were no fires, no columns of smoke, not even a trace of ash in the air; she burned nonetheless.

She stood, barefoot and alone, in the cool grass and she stared. Impenetrable stone, impervious to her gaze, unmovable at her words, unchangeable by her fists. Final. Lasting.

A death sentence.

The pale moonlight stretched her shadow to the very edge of the thick stone walls until they just barely touched. It was as close as she dared to get tonight. There were other times, times of naivety, times when she knew less of the danger lying beyond, that she would sit with her back against the stone and drift off into slumber. But not tonight. Not now. Now that she _knew_.

She could never forget. Things were different now.

The echo of a bone deep groan rumbled through the clearing. Its call ghosted over the bare skin of her arms leaving gooseflesh in its wake as the earth moved and shifted unnaturally beyond the massive walls, like a deadbolt, twisting and turning, locking her deeper within.

The Maze; unmovable to all but the Creators.

A smile tinged in bitterness swept its way onto her lips. A new pattern was forming in there, always a new pattern. Shifting, moving, and just as they thought they might have figured it out, everything changed.

Helplessness closed in around her, a cage she knew all too well, and she fought it back by sheer force repeating the mantra over and over in her mind—a single phrase that had been stuck in her head ever since she arrived—there is always a way out, there is always a way out, _there is always a way out_.

But that hope was slowly drowned out by the horror of the day.

Time passed, hours maybe, and still she stood until a second shadow, taller, stronger, faster, joined her own and suddenly she was no longer alone. She hadn't heard him coming. He had a gift for that. His feet being, perhaps, the only silent part of him.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and rocked onto her toes, her voice a mere whisper in the wind. "We're trapped in here, aren't we?"

His silence filled the air for a long moment. And then he shifted closer. "For now."

"And what if we never get out?"

"We will. I promise, we will. Just…" he shrugged, searching for the words, "got to keep trying."

Her eyes left the stone fortress before her for the first time since she had wandered out there and locked onto the boy next to her. His face was unreadable and she knew he felt the same helplessness, the same desperation that haunted her. Only he hid it better.

For some reason, unknown to her, she reached for his hand. Warm fingers engulfed her smaller ones and she squeezed; a promise. To the Gladers, to him, to herself.

"There is always a way out."

"Always."

* * *

 **AN** : I've been reading a number of TMR fanfiction recently. I have a slight obsession with the snark, sass and sarcasm monster that is Minho and, well, I couldn't help myself! So, here's my take on the "Girl in the Glade" bit. Hopefully I can cook up some surprises for you all!

Chapter one (which will be considerably longer), coming up soon! Thanks for reading and please let me know if I've caught your interest!

\- RevolutionNow


	2. The Offering

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter One – The Offering**

"How close did you get?"

"I already told Nick last night, too shucking close."

It was the hour before dawn's light and hushed voices, near whispers, fell in the mostly empty tool shed like the drop of a dead body, sudden and weighty. Mostly empty with the exception of the four boys gathered in an uneasy circle. There weren't many days—or any at all, really—that brought something new to report out of the Maze. Of those, there were even fewer days where the Runner would still be alive to tell that news. There were… _things_ that happened to those who saw too much, to those who got too close to an answer. They all knew it. Still, the oldest, the one who had been there the longest, couldn't help himself.

"Did you see—?"

A flat look and an even flatter reply cut him off. "Do you think I'd still be here if I did?"

"The question is, why were there so many in one place?" A blond boy, tall and lanky, shook his head as confusion colored his voice. The others slowly looked at him in dread. That was the question that frightened them more than anything else. That was what they needed to know.

Finally, the raven haired boy let out a deep sigh. "I don't know and that's what we need to find out."

"I don't like it, man. Something feels… off about this whole thing."

Different ones nodded or grunted their agreement and a heavy silence overtook them. That is, until the Box alarm began blaring through the Glade making more than one in that room jump in surprise. The sun wasn't even up, which was why they were able to have this meeting mostly in peace from the other Gladers, it was way too early for the Box. But then again, who the hell made the rules in this place anyway?

"Well, I guess everyone is getting up early today. New offering comin' up," the oldest clapped the blond boy's shoulder and stood from his seat. "We'll continue this later," he told them and then pointed at the raven haired boy, "Minho, you don't do klunk about all of this until you get it approved by me or Nick, got it?"

Minho merely raised his brows and nodded in acceptance. Pleased, the leader grinned tiredly, "Come on boys, let's go see what we got."

* * *

She didn't tremble. She didn't even flinch, though the rest of them did. The only movement she made was when she shot up to her feet and took two steps back, staggering in the harsh sunlight as the Box revealed its newest gift. Since then, it didn't even seem like she had breathed.

But then, neither had the Gladers.

There was a long stretch of time as the group of boys simply stared down in disbelief at the lone girl and she stared back at them unwaveringly.

"Impossible," came a stunned whisper from somewhere in the crowd. Her eyes, a violent shade of blue evident even from distance of where they stood, flashed in the general direction of where the whisper had come from and then flickered around nervously when she didn't find the owner. Still, she stood her ground.

She might not be outwardly shaking and screaming like the rest of them had been, but she was afraid; he could feel it pouring off of her.

That was when Alby decided that he had had enough. Without any preamble, as he did many things in his life, when everyone else was rendered immobile, he simply jumped down into the box. As he did, her gaze honed in on him but she stayed where she was, refusing to move back an inch. She might be terrified, but she seemed hell bent on not showing it.

Alby didn't know whether that was brave of her or just her stupid pride, but he nodded, in some kind of understanding. Now that he was on even ground, he was finally able to get a good look at her.

She wasn't short but she also wasn't tall. She was a little chubby around the waist and generally unimpressive and unthreatening but she tilted her chin up at his assessment and met his gaze with a quiet kind of defiance, which was no small thing to do.

"Somebody go wake Nick," he said all the while keeping his eyes solely on her. When no one moved, he added a firm, " _Now_."

There was a grumble and then the shuffling of feet as someone ran off to find their leader who slept like the dead. The girl stayed where she was, refusing to look away from the boy in front of her. She looked ready to fight and that, for some reason, almost made him grin. "What's your name?" he asked her, his voice echoing around the unusually silent group of boys. There was a moment of total silence before she answered.

"Liz."

Her voice wasn't what he expected. It was sharp and raspy; like she had screamed it all out one day and was now left with only the quiet echoes of what had once been a normal girl's voice.

It sounded wrong coming out of her mouth.

"I'm Alby," he held out his hand slowly, cautiously, offering help and not wanting to startle her. "Come on."

She stared at his hand for a breathlessly long moment and then met his eyes and jutted her chin out as she reached to take it. His nodded in approval and wasted no time in pulling her up and out of the Box.

Her climb out was graceless, a flurry of limbs and odd jerky movements until she was firmly on her own two feet. The crowd of boys backed away quickly as she stepped out, as if they were afraid of her—hell, Alby wouldn't doubt it if they were. She was the only one, the first one, after all.

He let her gather herself for a moment, giving her the time. They all watched as it happened—like it did for all of them. Alby could almost predict it now, the moment the Greenies first got a glimpse of the Maze. It hit them all the same, in one way or another. She was no different. Her eyes went wide, effectively forgetting the group of boys surrounding her, as she spun in a slow circle following the massive stone walls locking them all in.

When her eyes slid back to Alby, he knew it was coming—the breaking. The fear was rising in her body and she looked as if she might scream or run or a combination of the two and he could see her desperately try to force it all back down her throat. Finally—

"Where am I?"

"This is the Glade, and for now, you're stuck here. And so are we."

"Stuck." It wasn't a question.

Alby nodded solemnly and her eyes flashed above him to the walls again with surprising speed. She slowly sucked in a deep breath of air and Alby inched forward, thinking she was about to make a run for it. He eyed Minho who was behind her and silently gave him the order to grab her if she went his way. The muscular boy nodded once. She took one step and then stopped, her eyes glazing over a bit, as if she wasn't fully present with them here.

"There is always a way out."

Alby's head snapped towards her at that, "What?"

She looked at him and opened her mouth and closed it a few times, looking like some kind of gaping, confused fish, and then repeated herself more firmly. "There is always a way out." Her voice was not loud but it carried through the silent clearing ringing in the ears of every Glader there.

"What do you know?" Minho stepped forward, drawing her attention to him and she merely shook her head.

"Nothing—I… where am I?" The first tremor they had seen since she had come up from the Box hit her and it hit her hard enough that her teeth clicked together as she spoke.

"Where the hell is Nick?" Alby asked looking around for some kind of answer. No one answered and Alby tried not to grit hit teeth in frustration. "Listen, Liz, do you remember anything? Anything about your life, do you know anything about here—anything at all?"

She sucked in air faster now and he could see the panic swell. "No, I don't." She was coiled tighter than a spring, her hands clenched at her side, pupils dilated and the vein in her neck pulsing. She looked to the walls, then the ground and swayed a little, like she was getting dizzy. "Oh my god, I don't remember—why can't I remember? What am I doing here? I have to get out, I need to get out of here, there is a way out and I need—"

Liz swayed harshly to the side, like she was on a boat being toppled by waves, and dropped to her hands and knees.

"Get back guys, give her some space!"

Alby's yell fell on deaf ears as no one moved, except for Minho, who crouched down, hand on her shoulder. She was shaking terribly now and then glanced up through her long curtain of hair, her face green.

"Oh man, she's gonna blow chunks!"

And she did. Magnificently. All over Minho's shoes.

* * *

She might have been mortified if she didn't think she was losing her mind.

Vomiting was never a good way to make an impression but she couldn't stop her stomach from emptying itself over and over until it began to cramp terribly from the dry heaves. It was as if her body didn't believe that there was nothing left to reject and project out of her mouth. The pain increased tenfold as she thought her actual stomach would lurch of her mouth soon and she began to groan.

It didn't help that she could vaguely hear the general disgust among the odd crowd of boys surrounding her every time she threw up. The loudest one belonging to the hand that was not very gently holding back her hair.

"There had better be some shucking new running shoes for me in there! This klunk smells."

"Come on, man, your feet are already rank. Their smell alone is probably what made her barf in the first place."

"Slim it, slinthead."

"Or what?"

"Both of you shut your mouths or you'll go visit the Slammer just because you're so shucking annoying."

She knew that last voice, it was the boy who had jumped into the Box to get her. The one who seemed like he owned this place. She glanced up, in her misery, and saw him looking down at her with very little pity as her stomach began to heave again—though nothing came out.

"Why—oh god," she gasped in between dry heaves. "Why can't I… stop?"

Someone, she suspected Alby, squatted down in front of her, his voice a practiced calm. "You will, soon. Everyone reacts differently and you held it together pretty well there… for a while. Just give yourself some time."

Nodding, she tried to focus on breathing in through her nostrils and ignoring the bile taste in her mouth. Distantly she could hear someone ordering all the others back to work, telling them that there was nothing to see right now. Liz felt immensely grateful to whoever that was. It was never fun barfing, and especially not fun doing it in front of a crowd of people who you just met.

Finally, after a few minutes of not heaving, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and dared to sit back on her heels and lift her head. The boy whose unfortunate feet bore most of her stomach contents was still crouched close to her and looking at her rather wary. Her face turned absolutely crimson and she felt as if she wanted to bury herself in the ground right there. Offering a miniscule smile, she mumbled, "Sorry I puked on your shoes."

"Me too," he said, point blank, and she had no idea if he was actually upset with her or not. Still wary, he patted her shoulder. "You okay now? Can I… let go?"

It took her a second to realize what he meant and then it hit her that he was the one holding back her hair. " _Oh_. Yeah. I think I'm done."

"For my sake, I hope so." His grin was quick as lightning before he rose to his feet only to glance down at the mess covering them and grimace. "I'm serious, there better be some new shoes. I'm _not_ running in these today."

She wanted to say sorry again, but he stalked off, leaving her there completely alone. For some reason, that hurt more than she would like to admit. But she didn't have any more time to think on it before Alby and another boy, this one kinder looking than the rest of them, came over. The new boy smiled at her and it seemed more genuine than the one that Alby had given her earlier. He offered her his hand and she took it without thinking.

"I'm Nick," he said as he pulled her up. "Me and Alby here run this place. If you need anything, you come to one of us. There are some other guys I'm going to introduce you to today, but first I think it'd be better if we go sit down for a bit and have a talk, yeah?"

Not trusting her mouth, she merely nodded. Nick smiled at her again and motioned for her to follow him and Alby.

"Nick!"

A voice called out just as they were leaving the Box and the two leaders stopped, causing Liz to look back in confusion. A blond boy, all long limbs and a grin as big as his face, came jogging up to them, one of his legs not quite working like it should causing his jog to be more of a hop. He had a bright red bag in his hand and tossed it to Nick.

"What's this?"

"It's the Greenie's," the boy said around his wide grin. "Unless one of us is going to start wearing a bra."

Liz felt her eyes turn into perfect circles and she nearly let out a little yelp. But Alby, not appreciating the humor, scoffed at the blond and spit out with a little venom, "Newt, when you're done organizing that klunk, come meet us at the Homestead, got it shank?"

"Yes, Captain!" The boy, Newt, saluted and made his way back to the box enthusiastically giving out orders to the others making piles of the new supplies.

"Idiot." Alby rumbled and gave Liz a look that unmasked his awkwardness. "Yeah, sorry about that. Follow us."

And so she did.

The sun was starting to edge over the stone-like fortress surrounding them and her feet came to a standstill. A small flock of birds twittered overhead and flew over the walls, speckles of white against the blue sky. They did it with ease, not tied to this earth, but completely and totally free.

"Where are they going?" She asked before she could stop herself. Her question had been quiet enough that she wasn't sure the other two boys heard it, but from the expressions on their faces, she didn't think they enjoyed wasting time staring at birds. And so she picked up her feet and stayed close to them.

As soon as she reached their side, Nick began talking.

"So, Greenie—"

"What's a Greenie?"

"It's what we call the new people. Don't worry, it'll only last a month until the next one comes." Nick glanced at her and saw the question on her lips and held up a hand to stop it. "Honestly, it helps if we don't tell you everything at once. Shock and all. So we'll take it slow. For now, let's try to hold back on the questions until after the tour. Alright?"

Biting her tongue, she nodded and simply followed. They passed a group of boys hoeing a garden and they all stopped to turn and stare—it was a stare long enough to make her extremely uncomfortable. She clenched her jaw and purposefully ignored them. There was a large wooden building ahead, and around them was a green forest and it seemed like different boys were working everywhere, hammering things, digging, yelling, laughing, joking. She took some comfort in being smaller than both Alby and Nick and hid a little behind their bulk as she took it all in.

It all felt like a dream, a really confusing and probably soon to be terrible dream. She didn't know how she knew that, but she knew it wasn't a good thing that she was here. She knew that deep down, in her bones.

Her eyes were drawn towards the imposing stone once again and she couldn't help the tremor that went through her as she looked at them. She glared at the walls as hate, a violent burst of lava-like blood, flowed through her veins setting fire inside of her chest until it ate at her and flickered all the way down to her fingertips. Clenching her fists, she didn't know why exactly but she _hated_ those walls with everything in her being.

"Come on, Greenie, in here."

The voice shook her and she turned to see both boys waiting at the door of the large wooden building. They were waiting for her to follow them inside and she felt something very akin to fear rise up as she forced herself to walk towards them. Alby was looking at her as if he expected her to run any second, and hell, maybe she would. But right now, her feet moved without her permission and brought her inside the cool darkness of the building.

Inside, the distinct smell of male was everywhere. Gym socks, her mind thought, and she didn't know why or where she had smelled that before, but she just knew it was one of the worst smells in the world. Wrinkling her nose, she followed Nick through the maze of hammocks and bedding tattered everywhere on the ground until he reached a private room in the back. He opened the door and let her go in first and she warily moved inside. Alby and Nick followed, shutting the door behind them.

The sound of that door closing was so final, that she felt utterly trapped standing alone in that room with two boys who she did not know. Everything in her told her to get out and get out now.

Nick walked over to a small desk and pulled out a sturdy looking chair for her while he sat on the ground, his back to the wall. Alby merely stayed standing in front of the door. Liz lowered herself carefully onto the chair and eyed both of them—Alby in particular. He seemed much more intimidating now than he did before in the Box.

"So," Nick began, "what can you tell us about yourself?"

Something flared in her chest and Liz spit out the words before she could stop herself. "I don't know who you are—why would I tell you anything?"

"Because, right now, like it or not, we are all you got. You got thrown into this klunkhole place with us and you're going to have to trust us now." Alby crossed his muscular arms over his chest, his face void of all emotion and very much not making her want to trust him.

She swallowed.

"My name is Liz."

"Anything else?" Nick prompted.

"No."

"What was that you said about there being a way out?"

"I don't know."

Alby shifted an inch closer and Liz matched him by moving back in her chair. She did not like this at all. "You don't know or you don't want to tell us?"

Not enjoying the interrogation, she bit out a mere, "Both, _asshole_."

She said it before she even realized what was coming out of her mouth and even after her brain registered the stupidity of it, she couldn't really bring herself to regret it. But despite her bravado, she did not feel very brave but there were many different types of fear, too, and right now, the fear pulsing through her was a lot like insanity.

Alby was not the kind of boy she wanted to mess with, and from the silent boiling fury in his eyes, she knew she had crossed a line.

"Listen," Nick intervened between her and Alby's staring match, his voice gentled in a way you would speak to a spooked horse. "We are trying to help you here. It'll be easier for everyone if you just cooperate."

She said nothing but her eyes burned.

"You're only making this harder for yourself," Alby told her without an inch of kindness. "But I guess you'll figure that out soon enough."

Still, she was silent. Feeling like her back was against the wall, trapped and intimidated, it made her lose her voice and all forms of civility. Part of her was pushing her to just do as they said, but she couldn't. She felt… vulnerable and though she couldn't remember another time that she had ever felt like this, she hated it.

As if he read her discomfort, Nick sighed. "Well, I don't think we're going to get much further with this right now. I get it, you don't trust us, you're scared. We've all been there. So I'm going to give you some time to cool down. Me and Alby will go find you a place to sleep—a more private place than the rest of us use. As for everything else, well, this is new to us, so we'll figure it out as we go, I guess."

"New? Haven't you gotten new people before…" the words died on her lips as the revelation of one massive detail that had been glaring out in the back of her mind suddenly showed its face. "Why haven't I seen any other girls?"

Nick looked down at the ground for a short second and she knew, when he looked back up at her in that moment that what he said was going to change everything.

"Because you're the first to ever come here."

It felt as if she had been dropped into a deep, black pool of water. Everything within her froze and her breath rushed out of her lungs. She was the only one out of however many have come out of the damned Box, she was the only one. Suddenly, her fear of being here increased tenfold.

Nick was rubbing the back of his neck, looking almost as uncomfortable as she felt. "But maybe now more will come, I don't know. We'll tackle that when it comes."

Her eyes were locked on his and she felt her dry lips crack a little as she spoke.

"So, I'm alone."

"You don't have to be."

"But I am."

"Yeah," Nick's brows furrowed and she could see his shoulders slump under some invisible weight. "I guess you are. Listen, rest up. You can hang with Newt for the morning—don't worry, he's a good shank—and then we'll give you the tour after lunch. But first, me and Alby," he sent a meaningful look to the boy who had yet to move or uncross his arms at the door, "have some business to take care of."

* * *

"That was uncalled for."

Alby stopped and rounded on him in barely contained anger, "What?"

"That klunk you pulled in there." Nick nodded towards his room in the back where Liz was currently getting her ear talked off by Newt. He walked out the door, knowing Alby would follow—like he always did—and started towards the tool shed. It was the one place they could meet without extra ears listening in.

Both of them were silent on the walk, ignoring any Glader who asked them about the girl and glaring at those who didn't get the message that they were not in the mood to deal with their klunk. Finally, when they arrived at the tiny shack, overrun by various tools, Alby spoke. "I treated her just like I would treat any other mouthy Glader. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is that she's a shucking girl."

"Yeah, I noticed," the dark skinned boy said blandly and then sighed and rubbed his face with exhaustion. "Nick, what are we supposed to do with her?"

"Hell if I know," Nick shook his head. "Things change with a girl here. Do we have anywhere she can sleep?"

Alby looked around and shrugged. "Here will work."

"Are you shucking kidding me, the tool shed?"

"It'll do for now."

"Alby, she's a girl, I don't know much about them but I don't think a tool shed will do."

"It'll have to. She can get over it. We'll get the builders to fix something up for her this week, but for tonight she can sleep there. It's better than having her lay out in the Glade with the others, right?" Alby reasoned and then said what had been on his mind since her little outburst and Nick's catering to her back at the Homestead. "Listen, I know she's a girl, I know it's different than what we're used to but we are going to have to treat her as best as we can like any other Greenie that comes out of that Box. That means she does her part, we get her a job, she follows the rules, if she breaks them she gets punished just like anyone else. No special cases. And if we do have to do things different, we'll figure it out one day at a time."

At first, Nick looked like he wanted to protest, but then he deflated and nodded in agreement. "I know. You're right… What about that klunk you told me she was saying about a way out?"

"Now that," Alby nodded, "I think, is more of what we need to figure out."

They fell silent, feeling way too old and way too young all at once. Neither really knew what to do, and then, suddenly, Nick had a wicked grin on his face.

"Did she really lose it on Minho's shoes?"

Alby outright laughed. "Yeah and it was the best shucking thing I've seen all year."

* * *

Even if she couldn't remember anything about her life before the Box, she would guess that Newt talked an abnormal amount for a human being.

She didn't know if he was always like this, but after her meeting with Alby and Nick, his odd need to fill every moment with some kind of commentary was nice, if only slightly annoying. One thing was for sure, she didn't feel threatened by his presence like she did with Alby. Maybe it was his easy smile or that his arms and legs seemed too long for his body, leaving him in a slightly awkward and endearing stage of growth. Whatever it was, he was okay.

"—I would offer you some breakfast, but after your spectacular display out there, I don't think that food should be encouraged. At least until we are absolutely positive that you can hold it down."

She jerked, coming back out of her thoughts and to the one-man conversation Newt was having. He was right, the thought of anything going into her stomach did not sound like a good plan at the moment.

"Still, _I'm_ hungry and just because you chucked all over one of our Keepers doesn't mean I have to miss out on a meal. So, since I'm on babysitting duty, come on, up you go, Greenie."

He didn't wait for her to answer but merely yanked on her arm until she scrambled to her feet.

"Where are we going?" She asked, feeling infinitely stupid.

"To see Frypan and my breakfast."

Liz nodded and followed him through the large wooden home towards the door, but the closer they got, there was a more pressing issue to deal with before breakfast. And it _sucked_ having to ask. Catching up to him and tugging on his sleeve, she mumbled, "Hey, uh, Newt?" He turned to look at her and she squirmed. "I need to pee."

His eyes widened comically. "Of course you do, sorry about that. Come on, I'll show you where the toilets are."

The tall blond led her to another part of the Glade that had two smaller buildings, which in reality looked like a number of different connected wooden stalls. He turned and smiled sheepishly at her, jerking his thumb towards the first stall after having knocked on it to make sure it was clear. "There you go. We have four toilets there and that other bit, just over there, that's the showers. There's two of them and usually a long line in the early mornings…" he trailed off, not sure what else to say so he stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. "I'll just be waiting right here."

Liz didn't say a word as she walked past him, taking the information at face value. Four bathrooms, two showers. One girl and a shitload of boys. _Fabulous_.

Carefully she pushed the door open, not quite sure what would greet her. To her surprise, it wasn't terrible. Sure, it was smelly, but it wasn't terribly dirty. However, there was one glaring issue.

"Newt?"

The blond jumped and looked at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Do we have any toilet paper here?"

"Oh, yeah, we do. Hold on, I'll go get some." He took off at that odd hoping sort of jog to the main house. Liz, awkwardly waited wishing, maybe the first time in her life, that she could pee like a boy did and not have to worry about toilet paper.

A minute later, Newt came running out of the house like some kind of hero carrying a roll of toilet paper with him. He gave her a bit of a crazy grin and handed it to her, and like some kind of deadly virus, Liz felt his happiness infect her and she offered up a small smile in return. The first she had since she arrived in that Box.

"Thanks."

Newt nodded, "Sure thing."

Liz disappeared for a few minutes and when she came back out, Newt was moaning again about breakfast. "I can't skip a meal, you see. Not good for you, and here you never know which meal will be your last."

He said it so casually that he didn't notice Liz's steps falter. Did people die so often here? Where was she? Questions peppered through her mind and she tucked them away, waiting to unload on Nick or Alby, though it seemed apparent the latter wasn't fond of answering questions, maybe she would save them all just to annoy him.

Liz trailed Newt to what looked like a gathering area that was mostly filled with empty tables. The few boys who were there stared as they walked by, some called out a greeting or two and she merely glanced at them before following Newt. For some reason, that made the others at the table laugh outrageously.

As they neared the kitchens, Liz could hear someone yelling all kinds of terrible threats and it made her flinch back, but Newt rolled his eyes when he saw her reaction. "Come on, it's just Frypan, he's nothing to worry about."

"Sure about that?"

"Absolutely. Watch, I'll show you. Oi!" Newt yelled suddenly, banging his fist loudly on the door of the kitchen. "Frypan! Open up."

"Kitchen is closed," came a booming voice behind the door. Liz was pretty sure the door shook at the sound. "You know the rules! Breakfast ends at eight thirty, you shank! It's not my fault you're gonna starve!"

Newt smiled pleasantly at this like it was a perfectly normal conversation. "But I didn't eat _anything_ yet. I'm already skinny and now I'm going to wither away and you'll miss my company so much. You'll have to host my funeral service, that is, if Nick ever lets you out of the Slammer for your crime."

" _Crime?_ What crime!"

"Intentional harming of another Glader. Murder. You know."

"Why you little—" something like a metal pot must have been thrown at the door and Newt grinned even more at the look on Liz's face and winked at her.

"Plus, I've been babysitting the girl-Greenie and you're scaring her right now."

There was a sudden silence, and then a soft curse. A deadbolt was unlocked and a large boy emerged from the kitchen wearing a filthy apron with a plate of food in one hand and a large knife in the other. Liz ducked further behind Newt at the sight. "Here, take the food," she heard and then a clearing of a throat, "so, where is she?"

Newt chuckled and stepped aside, despite Liz's death glare at him for revealing her to the terrifying cook. But when the cook saw her, he smiled and went to wipe his hands hastily on his apron only to realize one had a large chopping knife. He grimaced and turned to put it away before coming back, wiping his hands again and extending one to shake. "Hey, they call me Frypan."

She tentatively reached out and shook his hand. "Hi."

"Shuck," Frypan said after a minute and looked to Newt. "I thought Minho was just messing with me when he said we got a girl."

"Did he tell you about her chucking up all over his shoes?"

Liz felt her cheeks burn. The boys continued, oblivious to her near death by embarrassment.

"Nope, but Gally did and so did every other Glader and that was enough," Frypan turned to look at Liz's and laughed. "Congratulations, Greenie, that's my favorite reaction yet. Minho, the shank, had it coming to him. Hold on, I got something for you."

The cook disappeared and Newt was stuffing his face messily as if he had never eaten before and Liz felt her stomach start to turn at the sight. Catching a glimpse of her disgusted face, Newt furrowed his brows, "Mmwhaf chu yookin' aah?"

Some of the scrambled egg he was eating spewed out of his mouth and splattered on her arm and the girl gagged. Newt's eyes widened in horror and he swallowed, "Oh shuck, you're not gonna puke, are you?"

Liz wiped off the egg on her pants and shook her head. "If I do, it's because you're disgusting."

Newt laughed at that and patted her head, not even caring if his hand also had egg on it and he was currently wiping it in her hair as well. Liz was ducking and trying to avoid the touch and the egg, making grossed out noises when Frypan returned. He had wrapped up a sandwich and handed it to her.

"Courtesy of the cook," he grinned when she took it and mumbled out a thanks, completely unaware of the large piece of egg clinging to the side of her head. Newt only looked a little sorry as he reached out to flick it off. Liz looked only a little like she might kill him.

They left the kitchen area soon after and Newt continued his ability to talk her ear off, pointing out this thing or that, sharing embarrassing stories about different boys as they passed. Liz didn't say much, but she didn't mind his banter. Eventually, towards midday, Newt eventually left her in peace and quiet, sure that she wasn't going to run and do something crazy. An hour later, Nick found her sitting on the edge of the Glade under a tree, staring at the walls. She had only given the sandwich from Frypan a half-eaten attempt but was more than ready to throw it at the approaching boy like a weapon the moment she heard footsteps.

Nick's hands went up in surrender and he grinned a little at her. Liz merely leaned back further into the tree, silently taking note that Alby had not joined the party that afternoon. Pity.

"How are you feeling?"

Liz raised one eyebrow, "Exhausted. My ears hurt."

"Enjoyed the morning with Newt, I see." Nick laughed making her scoff. His laugh soon died down and he looked at the girl for a long moment. He would rather give her the day off, but the sooner she got acquainted with the place, the sooner she could fit in with the rest of them—sort of. "You ready for the tour?"

Liz leaned her head back against the tree and waved her half-eaten sandwich in the air less than enthusiastically. "Lead the way."

* * *

She stared at the names carved into the wall. Hers, being the newest.

She stared at the ones crossed out and wondered what those boys looked like, what their voices sounded like, what they laughed at. She wondered how each one died in this place and how someone could just let that happen. She wondered how the others coped.

She wondered if she would ever have her own name crossed out, blacked out, for good.

The tour left her with more questions than answers, even when she got to ask Nick anything she wanted. She still had no idea what they were doing there, why they were there, what was going on, who put them there, why they couldn't get out, why she was the only girl. She didn't know because he didn't know and he had been here for over a year. It was infuriating. She didn't understand how everyone could go about their normal life, do their job, and not be driven insane by the feeling of being completely and totally trapped and at the mercy of the mysterious "Creators".

She hated it. She hated the Glade. Not to mention, they gave her a tool shed to sleep in. A _tool shed_.

She could have hated the boys, she tried, but she couldn't. Even though she felt utterly different, separate from them, she couldn't hate them or blame them for her being there—not even Alby. They were just as trapped as she was. It was these stupid walls that she hated—this fucking Maze.

Part of her wanted to go in, to see it for herself, but she also heeded the stern warnings from Nick about going inside. There had to be a reason these boys were utterly terrified of going in—well, nearly all of them were terrified. Except for the Runners.

She wondered what it would be like, willingly running into something so dangerous every day. She wondered if she could ever be that brave.

Shouts in the distance caught her attention and Liz turned to see the giant bonfire the Gladers had made and she pursed her lips. Newt had seen her sneak away from the party not long after it had started and she was sure he told Nick or Alby about it, but she was glad they let her be in peace for now. After the day, the questions, the terror, being around a ton of strangers was the last thing she wanted. She wasn't sure why she had wandered out here, to this place, but she just needed some time to herself, to think.

Moving closer, she looked up at the impossibly tall wall, past the names and to where she could see the edge of it touch the dark velvet sky. Liz bent down suddenly and picked up a lose rock. She gripped it in her hands and thought about all of these kids who maybe once had families, had other lives, who were thrown into this place where so many died. The rock cut the skin of her palm and the sting made her grunt. She wound back and threw it at the wall as hard as she could.

It merely bounced off, hardly making any noise and she wanted to scream. She bent down and picked up another and repeated the action.

"Nice arm, but it won't get you very far doing that."

"Holy shit!" Liz jumped just after throwing another rock and whipped around. The boy, the one they said was the Keeper of the Runners, stood there with a knowing smirk on his face. Liz pointed an accusing finger at him, "You scared me."

"Yeah, well you threw up on my shoes." He said and walked closer, not looking at her but at the Maze. Her face heated up again and she grimaced.

"Sorry about that…" He didn't answer, merely continued looking at the Maze. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"Not really a party when the guest of honor doesn't show up," he turned to her suddenly, catching her looking at him and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing out here?"

Liz blinked and turned back to the wall of names. "Thinking."

"I think you're hiding." Her head snapped up and he added for her benefit. "You heard me."

Stiffening angrily, she clenched her jaw. "So what if I am?"

Minho shrugged and moved to sit in the grass, stretched his legs out and leaning back on his elbows. Liz paused for a second, feeling odd standing when he was sitting so casually. Hesitantly, she joined him and she could have sworn she saw that lightning quick grin of his before it disappeared.

"Got nothing to be scared of from us, I can promise you that."

Liz picked a blade of grass from the ground and tore it in half. "Thanks, but I'll make that conclusion myself."

"You know, we're kind of more terrified of you than you are of us. They're probably a little relieved you're hiding. Wouldn't know how to act around a girl."

"Really." She said in that flat, toneless, raspy voice. "And you do?"

"Not really sure, but I know I'm not afraid of you," Minho slid a sneaky look her way and smirked. "If your vomit is the scariest thing you got, I've seen worse." Being the Keeper of the Runners, she didn't doubt that he had seen worse. "Now, if you could learn to vomit on command, you would be a real force to be reckoned with."

"That's disgusting, but tempting." Minho turned to look at her just as a small smile fluttered its way onto her lips. His stare was a little longer than comfortable and Liz grabbed another nearby rock and chucked it at the Maze. They were silent for a long while and then she whispered more to herself than to Minho. "I think I hate this place."

"Join the club."

The Runner got up at that and Liz watched him brush himself off before turning back towards the bonfire. He walked part of the ways and then turned back, hands stuffed in his pockets, "Hey Greenie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't stay out too late this close to the Maze. You get eaten and I'm gonna be _pissed_."

Minho turned then and left without another word or explanation. Liz sat, stunned, unsure as to whether he was joking or not about the possibility of being eaten, but not wanting to find out. Nick had said there was more to show her, more to explain…

That night, as the boys danced around the fire and wrestled and yelled, she stayed by the stone walls. And when it got late, she wandered to the tiny toolshed where Alby had strung her up a hammock. After all, she didn't want to ignore Minho's warning.

That night, tucked away, she wept.

* * *

 **AN** – And so it begins… with lots of vomit and tears. Thanks lovely reviewers! I hope you enjoyed this. Also, please, tell me any girl that wouldn't be the slightest hostile at being thrown into a strange place with a ton of boys they didn't know. That would be terrifying and hard to just "shake off". So, hopefully Liz didn't come across as too harsh, but the girl is freaked. I would be, too. It might be a bit before she is "buddy-buddy" with anyone. Enough rambling, let me know what YOU think! (Not about the vomit, but if you must…)

\- RevolutionNow


	3. The Scream

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter Two – The Scream**

She did not sleep.

After the long, hard, bitter sobs subsided, she fell into an unearthly sort of calm, like her insides had been scrubbed clean, raw and bleeding now; but purified. She sat back, still a little nauseous even after the entire day had passed, and simply breathed. She didn't know if this calm would still be there when the sun rose and reality set in, but right now, in the still and silent hours, she knew peace.

The hammock creaked as she rocked herself, hands folded across her belly, one leg slung over the side and the tips of her toes just barely brushing the cool ground enough to keep up the motion. She forced herself to take in a deep breath and then let it out again, saying the same thing she had been repeating in hushed tones for the last hour.

It was all she knew.

"My name was Liz. I was sent here. I am trapped in a Maze. There is always a way out. My name is Liz. I was sent here. I am trapped in a Maze. There is always a way out…"

* * *

Gatherings were, without a doubt, one of his least favorite things.

It wasn't that he didn't like conflict, but this whole "talk out your feelings" took a hell of a lot longer than if two guys just duked it out and got over their issues. But Alby and Nick were trying to create a peaceful living environment, which he understood the importance of, but just didn't see the likelihood of it happening when you put a bunch of egotistical guys in the same place for an extended period of time.

Conflict was bound to happen, blood would boil, and to save the Med-Jacks from wasting all of their bandages on their faces, Nick would call a Gathering. Normally it was for petty issues that Minho had fallen asleep during the discussion of more than once, but today was different. Today was going to be interesting.

The fact that Nick was actually awake and looking alert before eight in the morning was enough to prove his suspicion. The fact that everyone else showed up on time despite the killer hangovers he knew some of them were sporting from the bonfire celebration the night before, sealed it.

He was going to enjoy this.

"Everyone here?" Nick checked and then looked to Alby and tilted his head towards the rest of them.

Needing no further instruction, Alby rose from his seat, making himself seem taller than he actually was and rolled his shoulders. "Alright shuck-faces, sit down and slim it."

"I love it when Alby starts the Gatherings," Frypan muttered with an eye roll. "Makes me feel so good about myself."

Alby leveled a flat at the cook and Frypan didn't seem entirely impressed but he did shut his mouth. "We all know what happened yesterday."

"Yeah, we got a shucking girl-Greenie," Winston said, his words molding around a wide grin.

"A good looking one, too," several other voices seemed to chuckle out their agreement. Minho wasn't one of them but that didn't mean that he hadn't noticed. The girl _was_ pretty, with long, wild, almost blond curls, eyes the color of glaciers and that little beauty mark right below her left eyebrow. Yeah, she was real pretty. But she was also different from the rest of them and that naturally made her something of a commodity. He'd be lying to say that he didn't give her at least one good, long look. Hell, every one of them had—of that he was absolutely certain.

But he was also fairly certain that if any girl had come through that Box, even one butt ugly and klunk crazy, they'd all still check her out and find something about her appealing. Simply because she would be the only one.

"Not like you'd have the balls to do anything other than stare at her, Winston," Gally laughed and the noise grated on Minho's nerves and he found himself glaring at the Keeper of the Builders.

"Let's get one thing straight right here, right now," Alby spoke up, voice full of total authority. "I don't want to hear _klunk_ about what you think about her looks. If you're in this room it's because you are a leader here in this Glade. Yeah, it's going to change things having a girl around here, but you slintheads don't touch her, don't say klunk to her that you wouldn't say to any other male Glader here, don't treat her like you're a rabid dog and she's a shucking piece of meat. You're going to have to learn how to _control_ yourselves and if you can't, I'll _make_ you," Alby waited as the different boys cursed under their breath or dropped their eyes to the floor, looking properly reprimanded before he continued in a hard voice. "As a Keeper in this Glade, that means you are responsible for the actions of the boys working under you. Remember that and shut this klunk down before it gets out of hand. If I catch wind of anything I don't like that involves her and one of the Gladers, I will throw you in the Slammer. She's a girl. Suck it up and deal with it. If you wanna bitch about this, do it now to me, not to Nick later."

Well, there wasn't much anyone could say to that.

"Each of you are going to gather your different guys at some point today and give them this exact same talk. If you don't get it through their heads and they do something stupid, it's on you," voices of protest rose immediately and Nick held up one hand and silenced them. "Welcome to the life of a leader. Someone shucks up, it's your fault. You weren't even in the area when they messed up, guess what? It's still your shucking fault. That's how it goes," Nick told them without any remorse.

"What is she going to do for a job?" Minho found the question jumping out of him before he could stop it and everyone turned to look at him curiously. He shrugged. "She has to do something to pull her weight."

"He's right. Alby and I talked about it and she's going to try out for different jobs just like every one of us did at some point. Wherever she excels, that's where we'll put her."

Zart slowly rose from his seat then, like a massive rolling mountain with hair, and cleared his throat, "I agree with everything you guys are saying. But… I'm still not sure what to think about the Creators sending us up a girl. Do we know why she is here? We all heard her talking yesterday like she knew how to get out of here. I'm not saying anything for certain, but I don't exactly trust her."

"Neither do I, to be honest." Alby admitted and paused for a long moment. "But time will tell. We'll keep a close eye on her, let her get comfortable, see if she shows her true colors and if she does and we don't like it, we'll handle it the way we always do."

"Guys, it's not like she's a danger to us," Frypan reasoned, holding up a hand in a placating manner. "She's a girl and outnumbered at that."

"Fry, you don't know how dangerous she might be," Nick explained. "None of us do. Which is why we'll take her in, but because this situation is unheard of, we'll take it slow."

"What if more start showing up?"

Nick looked at Gally and shrugged. "I don't know. We'll figure that out if it happens. But right now, I need you to build her somewhere better to sleep than the shucking tool shed. Nothing fancy, just something private."

"Done," Gally agreed quickly and Alby looked around before letting out a tired sigh.

"Alright, so she'll make the rounds at all the different jobs. Two day try out at each. Today, Zart, she'll start with you—sound good?" The large boy dipped his head in acknowledgement and Alby nodded. "We're done here. Meet with your boys today, make sure they understand the law. Got it?"

Minho was the first to stand but Alby stopped him before he could leave and motioned for him to stay behind. Confused, he did as the other boy had asked and waited. After everyone had cleared out of both eyesight and hearing range, Nick glanced up at Minho.

"Sit down."

Minho, never one to like being ordered around, naturally resisted to the order. "Why?"

"It's about the Maze."

* * *

She watched, perched below the small window, as different boys—Keepers as she remembered Nick calling them—exited the Council Hall and filed out into the Glade one by one. What they were doing up so early, she wasn't sure but she had a suspicious feeling it had to do with her. Especially since they all, at one point or another, let their gaze travel towards her tiny tool shed.

No one noticed her looking back at them though. Well, no one except the Keeper of the Runners. He was the last one to step out of the building, behind Nick and Alby and when his gaze swept over the tool shed, he honed in on that tiny window and locked onto her like he knew exactly where she was. The gesture made her freeze and maybe it was the fog playing tricks on her eyes, but she could have sworn she saw him smirk.

Nick and Alby also looked towards the tool shed as Minho took off to his Runners and she could see them arguing. Alby was shaking his head adamantly and Nick had pinched the bridge of his nose before finally waving Newt over and motioning back to the tool shed.

Apparently the top dogs were passing her off to one of their underlings today. She didn't mind that one bit.

She wasn't sure what it was about them, Alby in particular, that set her off so, but something about him made her nervous. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed a little too natural in his authority. Maybe it was that she was intimidated by him more than anyone else. Maybe it was the way he seemed to see straight through her. Though what it was that he saw, she had no idea.

Whatever it was, Liz was glad to see that it was Newt who was coming her way with possibly the best case of bad bedhead she had ever seen.

The sudden clang of a spoon clashing with a metal pot rang through the Glade announcing breakfast and her stomach rumbled at the thought of food after having been so thoroughly emptied the day before. Liz went to the red bag that had been left in the room for her and rummaged about. She had already gone through every bit of its contents finding four pairs of underwear and two bras, a toothbrush, hairbrush, a bar of soap, a pair of dark gray cargo pants, a white long sleeved shirt, and—something that she knew she was going to dread having in the presence of so many males—pads for when her monthly friend visited. Other than that, the bag was mostly disappointing. What she would have given for another outfit aside from the black cargo pants and green tank top she currently wore, or for another pair of shoes, or for some shampoo for her hair.

Sighing, she looked down at the outfit she was wearing, the same from yesterday, and wondered why she should even change. It wasn't too dirty and she would rather save the clean clothes for a time when she needed the extra boost. Zipping up the bag, she tucked it away under her hammock just as a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Slowly, the door opened and Newt poked his head inside, hair standing up in nearly every direction. When he saw her, he grinned. "Morning Greenbean, sleep well?"

"No."

"Sleep at all?" He asked noticing the dark circles under her eyes and Liz shook her head. "That's alright, it's always rough the first night. You'll be sleeping well this week though, I bloody guarantee that. Are you hungry?" Liz nodded and stood up, brushing off her thighs. Newt flashed her another smile and motioned for her to follow him. "Frypan'll have whipped you up something special, he's always a bit soft on the Greenie's during their first week."

Liz scoffed, "I must have caught him in a bad mood yesterday."

"Eh, he might look rough and talk rough, but the guy is a big softy. You'll understand soon. Just enjoy it while it lasts—you could even ask him for a donut and maybe he'll figure out how to cook one."

"I don't even knows if I like donuts."

"That's okay, I do. At least I think I do—don't really remember. But if he makes one, you can just give it to me." Newt said with a mischievous grin and she had to wonder how many other Greenie's he had tried this on. Feeling her guard drop just the smallest amount, Liz slid a teasing look at the gangly blond next to her and asked casually:

"So, any special occasion for this particular look?"

Newt turned, confused. She casually motioned to his head and then his hand flew up, patting around and feeling the damage a night of sound sleep had done and he grimaced.

"Early morning mandatory meeting," he mumbled embarrassed, "didn't have time to fix it."

"Looks great to me," she said with all seriousness. Newt searched her face, waiting for it to crack, and when it did he cursed colorfully and began rabidly patting down his wild hair.

They walked the rest of the way in almost complete silence, Newt occasionally grumbling under his breath about needing to take a shower. It was then that she caught a whiff of the stale smell of alcohol on his breath and the spectacular bedhead began to make a little more sense.

The boisterous conversations and friendly teasing of all the boys reaching them long before they came into sight. Liz sucked in a deep breath and naturally fell back a step behind Newt, which he noticed right away and purposefully slowed, waiting until she was beside him, not allowing her to use him as a shield.

Glaring, Liz set her jaw and walked forward preparing herself for the stares. What she wasn't prepared for was the suddenly fall of silence across the tables—not even the scrape of a fork could be heard and it made her grit her teeth. She refused to look at anyone though and kept moving, letting Newt subtly lead her towards the kitchen where she could get some breakfast. Her heart went into overdrive when the kitchen door flew open and smacked against the wall with a loud bang, nearly coming off of its hinges as Frypan came through like a hurricane. He glanced down at her and then at everyone else and glowered.

"What? You shanks never seen a Greenie before? Stop shucking staring and eat your food!"

Her eyes widened at the cooks effective ferocity because not even a second later, the boys were back to talking amongst themselves, only shooting curious glances her way every now and then.

"Told you he was a softy," Newt snickered and went up to grab a bowl of oatmeal for himself and Liz muttered, eyes still warily on the large, burly cook.

"More like a giant bear."

"That, too."

At least Frypan was pleased to see her. "Heya, Greenbean." He turned quickly and pulled out a plate from somewhere in his cooking fortress. It was warm and covered with a fork balancing on the top and he winked as he handed it to her. "Breakfast of champions."

"Thanks Frypan," Liz said, and she meant it in more way than one. Turning, she eyed the tables and then the boy next to her. "So, where do I sit?"

"Wherever you want," Newt told her and she merely stared at him until he gave in. "Oh fine. Come on, this way."

It didn't go past her notice that Newt led her to a table that was the furthest away from Alby. She wondered if he did that on purpose. Probably. Alby watched them from across the way and Liz gave him a civil nod of greeting, which he returned before getting up and putting his plate away, effectively leaving the area.

Liz would be lying to say that she didn't sigh in relief at his departure.

"Zart!" Newt's voice caught her attention. A large mountain of a boy with a black mop of hair on his head looked up as they made their way over. His brooding eyes briefly flitting down her body and back up faster than she could blink. "Meet the new Greenie, Liz. Liz, we thought it'd be best if you started out in the gardens with Zart today, sound good?"

 _Zart_ , Liz bit her lip to keep from smiling at the odd name. "Hi."

The burly boy didn't answer, but he offered up a smile and returned to his food. When he saw Liz pause, not even looking at her food yet, he pointed a thick finger her way. "Better eat quickly, we start in five minutes."

"Sure," she said and took the top plate off releasing an aroma so delicious that her mouth literally watered—an experience she was sure she had never had before. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and two medium pancakes; breakfast of champions, indeed. It took her a second to realize that both Newt and Zart were staring at her plate longingly. She smirked proudly at them and made a show of purposefully stuffing half of an entire pancake in her mouth.

Maybe on another day this week she'd share. But not today.

"Told you Frypan was soft on the Greenies." Newt grumbled sounding more offended than he should be and Liz rolled her eyes, reached up to pat his terrible hair, and dug into the rest of her plate.

* * *

She wasn't half bad at gardening, but for whatever reason, she found it utterly mind-numbingly boring. Something she probably shouldn't have mentioned out loud to Zart. The boy seemed to have a special connection to the plants and the earth, as he should, being the Keeper and all. But Liz could only find digging into the dirt, picking corn, and inspecting tiny green shoots interesting for so long. Zart, however, acted like it was something to be treated with the utmost reverence.

Personally, Liz thought he was a bit touched in the head. But she had two days to try and make this work with him and she was going to give it her best shot. Touched in the head or not, Zart knew what he was doing and she would be stupid to not take the opportunity to learn from him.

Still, try as she might, she was glad when the day was done. Hands and knees stained brown and feeling filthy in general, she still managed to force herself to wait until the Gladers gathered for dinner to make a mad dash for the abandoned showers. If a shower that consisted of a bucket, freezing cold water, and a single bar of soap could be called such a thing. She didn't even bother trying to wash her hair and still not fully trusting that everyone would be completely preoccupied with their food and wouldn't come wandering around to try and find her, she hurried to change into her other pair of clean clothes.

Tugging the white long sleeved shirt on, she gathered the rest of her things figuring that she would save her dirty clothes and wear them again tomorrow since she had another day in the gardens to go.

When she finally made it to the kitchens, the tables were nearly empty and Frypan was waiting with her plate and a firm warning that she couldn't continue this "late business" after the first week. Liz promised she would do better and took the spaghetti with a guilty smile.

Instead of standing there like a lost puppy wondering which table to sit at, she took the food and headed off to the wall of names. Liz didn't really know why she went there but it just drew her.

Apparently it drew him, too.

It wasn't long after she had finished eating before the Keeper of the Runners joined her. His silent approach scaring her just as much as it had the night before. But instead of yelling at him, her heart decided to try and explode. Minho had a sneaky little grin as soon as he saw her face stuck in a silent scream of terror, like he planned this. Liz, annoyed, let out a loud huff and turned, purposefully ignoring him.

Eventually her gaze trailed back to the names, running over each one, memorizing them, and then higher to the wall and higher still, to the stars.

It was a clear night and the view was startling in its beauty. For a place that was so confusing, so frightening, the night held a certain splendor to it. The kind you couldn't touch with words or poetry, but could only gaze at in wonder. She knew stars burned, she knew that and she didn't know how, but she wondered what they must see, looking down at them in this Glade. Did they, in this place with their little lives, burn as well? Did the stars look down and see a reflection of their beauty, or just a fire that ate at everything until there was nothing left but ashes?

She continued star gazing until her eyelids began to droop and her blinks became longer and slower, sleep creeping into her mind. Rousing herself before she completely slipped away, she glanced to the boy next to her and found that he was not watching the stars, but her. She didn't know why, but she smiled at him, not something half-hidden or forced, but a smile full of truth and life and the light of the stars. He did not smile back, but his eyes were piercing, as if he were memorizing her face in that moment and then he turned back to the night sky. Liz rose wordlessly, feeling the moment too pure to taint, and wandered back to her hammock in the tiny tool shed.

Minho stayed out there for the rest of the night.

* * *

"No. I'll save you the time and wasted effort—absolutely not."

She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head in a final answer as she stood at the doorstep to the Bloodhouse refusing to even go inside. Winston, the Keeper of the Slicers, shrugged at his leader and Nick rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.

"Liz, you've got to try."

"No I don't."

"I told you the shank wouldn't fit here, Nick. Just give it up—she'll break." Winston reasoned and Liz nodded in complete and total agreement, not insulted at all by his obvious judgement of her character.

She had finished her two days of working in the gardens and Zart had offered her a job there, but she requested that she try out the others before making a decision. He had been very patient and agreed. But this was one job, perhaps the only job, that she knew without a doubt would never be hers. "He's right, no slaughtering innocent animals for me. No slicing things up. Let's move on down the list."

"Yeah, well that list will get very short very fast if you reject more jobs without trying them out, Greenie. You gotta find somewhere."

"I will," she told him with confidence. "Just not here."

Not waiting for his response, because there was no other option for her, Liz turned on her heel and walked away from the terrible place. A few seconds later she heard footsteps jogging to catch up with her.

"Stubborn girl," Nick bit out and she didn't oblige him with a response.

"So, what's next?"

"Builder, but I don't think you have the chops for that."

Liz's mouth twisted as the possibility of making things with her hands went through her mind. If she could be honest, it didn't sound too bad. "Why?"

"Because you need to be strong."

"And you're saying that I'm not?"

"No… just, well, you'll see." Nick had a look of resignation on his face as he steered her towards the one Keeper she had yet to even say hello to. All she knew him as was the _BrowMan_. And it was true, they were a rather unfortunate set of eyebrows in a permanent arch giving him a look of extreme anger all of the time. And they moved when he talked sometimes, which made them all the scarier.

BrowMan did not disappoint when he saw them approaching. He must have known the reason and set down his pile of wood and marched over, annoyance radiating in his body language. Liz stood her ground even as he pointed right in her face and spoke to Nick as if she were deaf.

"Are you shucking me?"

"Gally—"

"I mean, because this has got to be a joke."

"It's not, she's got to work somewhere."

BrowMan—or Gally as everyone called him—scoffed loudly and folded his arms. "So you want to try her here?"

" _I_ want to try out here," Liz cut in. If they were going to decide her fate so quickly, she wanted to at least get a word in.

Gally looked at her, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her and Liz tried not be offended by such an obvious glance. But then Gally began to chuckle, confusing her, and Nick merely pinched the bridge of his nose, something he seemed to be doing a lot around her, muttering a quiet, "Here we go."

"Okay," the Keeper of the Builders said brightly and walked over to a table full of tools picking up one and holding it out for her inspection. "What is this?"

"A hammer." Liz quipped, surprised that she actually knew the name of the tool, though she had no memory whatsoever of ever using one, she knew what its function was.

"And this?"

She grinned, proud of herself. "Saw."

"This one?"

Liz paused, looking at the object in the boy's hand and she could see the gleam of victory in his eyes as she studied it closely, mind scrambling for an answer. When she came up with nothing, she raised her chin and spoke with the utmost dignity that she could muster, "A twisty-nobby-thing."

Gally must have perfected the unimpressed look a long time ago because what he leveled at her and then at Nick was devastating. "See my point?"

"Slim it, Gally," Nick sighed, clearly exasperated with both of them. "Just let her try. If she screws up, she can just move onto the next job, alright?"

The other boy was silent for a moment and Liz raised her own eyebrows in challenge to his. Finally, he conceded. Liz waited until his back was turned to grin in triumph.

* * *

"Try again."

"The nail won't go in straight!"

"That's because you hammer like an idiot."

"So, teach me," Liz nearly threw the tool at the hardheaded, arrogant boy. But she didn't know if that would actually help or just make him worse. So she resisted her urges and strangled the hammer in her hands instead.

"This isn't klunk that can be taught, either you can do it or you can't."

Liz growled, "I _could_ do it if someone did their job and _showed_ me how."

"I never had to show any one of my builders a shucking thing, they knew what they were doing when they came here," Gally stood behind her, legs spread far apart and arms crossed over his chest looking every bit the intimidating figure that he was. It was just… she couldn't take him very seriously with those things above his eyes. As if he knew what she was thinking, his eyes narrowed and he grunted, "So figure it out or leave, shank."

"You know," Liz began lightly and then her voice dropped and her lip curled in disgust, "you're a real—"

"I dare you to finish that sentence."

Liz leaned towards him, antagonizing, not able to stop herself—

"Shuck-face."

She didn't even really know what that meant but she knew it was a serious insult here evident by the silence that followed. Like a slap to the face, she watched the boy turn red. She readied herself for the explosive anger but what she got was a dangerously soft order. " _Get. Out._ "

She froze, not leaving like Gally had ordered, and he closed in on her in three quick steps. Liz backed up, tripping over some tools and toppling onto her butt. Gally looked down and sneered at her, and Liz felt the burn of embarrassment and anger twine together as the other builders stopped what they were doing to watch the scene. She swallowed and got back on her feet, slowly dusting off her hands.

"I have two days here," she said quietly, eyes flashing up to the Keeper of the Builders. "You can't just kick me out. You have to find something I can do."

Gally's eyes narrowed and she stood her ground, meeting his gaze. Finally, he bit out—

"You don't touch a single tool. Go, gather wood for the rest of today, slinthead."

Liz took that in stride and went off silently to do as she was told. Tomorrow would have to be better, she promised herself.

It had to be.

* * *

He didn't come that night.

The slight ache of disappointment that resonated through her was confusing. It wasn't like they had struck a deal, in fact, she hadn't even spoken to Minho outside of their nightly rendezvous. And even then, they hardly spoke. It was just nice to not feel so alone.

But she always had been, she figured, even when he was there, she was alone to a certain extent. His absence just made it all the more painfully obvious.

Sighing, her hands splayed out in the grass next to her thigh and she ran her fingers through the blades like you would a person's hair and then she gripped a handful and ripped it out of the dirt. She did it again and again until there was nothing but moist, rich earth under her hands.

Glancing down, she smiled harshly at the destruction around her. Yeah, gardening probably wouldn't be the best job for her here.

Exhaustion was creeping along her skin, seeping into her bones, and she pressed her back further into the tree trunk she leaned against and yawned. Her eyes watered and even with her blurry vision she could still see the stark beauty of the sky above. It made it hard to go back to the tool shed, her own tiny prison, when she had this kind of view to sleep under. So, she didn't.

Sighing and closing her eyes, it wasn't long until she drifted off.

That was when the nightmare struck.

It was a dark, malevolent thing. Faceless, voiceless, slithering and choking the life out of her with its unadulterated terror. Her eyes flew open, a scream built up in her throat but she swallowed down and all that came out instead was a strangled, gasping attempt to remember that she was alive.

Her chest heaved as her mind tore itself away from the thorny grasp of the dream. She could not remember what had made her so afraid, but she could not stop shaking. Her hands shook, her body shook, her eyes were red and raw and she felt numb and broken and horrified at the same time.

Gripping the tree behind her for some kind of anchor to reality, she tried to focus her mind on where she was.

Only the sick irony of it all was that she didn't know where or even who she was.

Tears slid down her cheeks and she shoved them away angrily. The stone wall towered over her, the wall of names taunting her, telling her that these boys lived and died here and they never got any answers. She would never know who she was, she would never get out, she was trapped, trapped, trapped.

Liz closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, focusing on the dim voices of the different boys she could hear laughing through the Glade, completely unaware that she was having a full blown meltdown. She breathed in and out, focusing on the dew in the grass under her gradually soaking through her dark cargo pants, and slowly she came back to herself. The shaking didn't stop but it became less violent and slowly, her teeth stopped chattering.

She didn't want to think about the Glade or the boys or the horrible feeling of being trapped—

She screwed her eyes more tightly closed.

 _Get out of my head!_

But it was no use.

Needing to act, she rose to her feet sharply, and walked to the stone wall, the stupid, mocking thing. One hand extended, reaching out to touch it for the first time since she had carved her name. She traced the different names, could feel the anger in some of the indentions, the fear in others that left some names sloppier than the rest. Fingertips ghosted over the pain-filled slashes, marking the end of a precious life and she felt more tears slide down her face.

"Help me," she whispered, not even sure who she was talking to. " _Please_ , help me. I don't know what to do—I, I can't do this."

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the wall.

And then something moved.

It took her a long moment to realize there was something else there. She whipped around, looking behind her and to her right and left and when she saw nothing but darkness, she paused, not sure if it had been just her muffled hearing. Slowly, her palm closed into a fist and she quieted herself, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Leaning closer to the wall, she pressed her ear against the stone, ignoring the chill it sent through her, and waited.

It didn't take long.

There was a long, almost lazy scrape of metal on stone and she could swear she heard something huff out a loud breath and Liz felt her blood turn cold. Something snapped inside of her, some kind of instinct that told her to _run_.

Ticks and whirs and footsteps weighed down heavy with terror and blood and death.

Something was out there, in the Maze. Something moving and terrifying and just on the other side of the wall.

Before she could move, a terrible scream tore through the night, blasting her back from the wall and flat on her back. It was long and inhuman and louder than anything she had ever heard and it triggered something in her that she couldn't name and before she could stop herself, her own bloodcurdling scream answered its call.

And then she was running like a bat out of hell.

* * *

"Greenie still not shown her face?"

Minho looked up as Newt ambled over with an easy grin. "You don't see her here, do you?"

"Nope."

"Then I guess that'd be a 'no'."

"She's going to have to get over it at some point." Newt said matter-of-fact, plopping down next to his friend. Minho leveled the other boy with a single look.

"Yeah, because we each got over this place after a couple of days. Give her a shucking break. She's probably had it worse than any of us." Alby walked by at that moment and both Minho and Newt fell silent. Minho furrowed his brows and muttered, "Well, worse than most of us."

"Should we go find her?"

Smirking, Minho's eyes slid over to Newt. "You want to go track down an emotional girl? Be my guest."

"Yeah," Newt frowned, "but you were with her last night, right?"

The Runner's hand froze, fork stopping halfway to his mouth. "What was that?"

"I saw you, out by the wall." Minho kept his cool, but his eyes went flat. "Don't worry, I'm not saying klunk to anyone, but I thought," Newt shrugged, "I don't know, that maybe you had gotten to know her some, were helping her work this out."

Minho was silent for a long moment and then—

"Do I really look like the kind of guy to do that?"

Newt watched his friend carefully, and then grinned. "Like I said, I won't tell anyone. Because, what the hell do I know about it anyways, right?"

"Slim it, you—"

The insult died on his lips at the first scream and Minho's head shot towards the wall. They heard the Grievers every now and then, not that he could ever say he had grown used to the sound of them, but it was the second higher pitched and distinctly female scream that followed that made his heart skip a beat.

Slowly, Newt stood, eyes on the woods. "What the…"

" _There!_ " Someone shouted and Minho thought it might have been Alby.

A blur was tearing through the woods, weaving between trees. They saw her shoulder slamming into a tree branch, snapping it in half until she all but lunged into the clearing. Hair whipping behind her like a flag as she flat out sprinted through the Glade.

"Where's she going—" Newt started and then his eyes went wide with dread. "—oh shit!"

* * *

Her heart was pounding, her throat clenched. Her blood was ice and she was falling farther and farther away from herself losing a complete and total grip on reality. There was no time to think about where she was going, no time to think of the consequences, her body was on autopilot, her feet directing her long before her mind could catch up.

It was a wild kind of run, messy, sloppy, limbs flying everywhere, but with an extra burst of surprising speed that only adrenaline could give. She weaved through different obstacles, not slowing for a second, and veered a sharp left before she knew what she was doing. The moon was nearly full and it illuminated her goal—the Box.

Only, the Box had disappeared back under ground, but she was certain she could tear open the metal doors with her bare hands, or at least try until she bloodied herself.

Thundering footsteps were closing in on her, right behind her, gaining ground quickly. Someone might have shouted at her in terror as it became clear where she was going, what she was going to do, but her blood was pounding, marching in her ears telling her to run, run, run, and it was so loud it drowned out everything else. She was so close, she could see it now, the doors hiding the dark pit that had spit her out here in that dreaded Box in the first place. She had to get back, she had to get out, this was the only way, they were all going to die and she didn't want to die, she didn't want to die, _she didn't want to die!_

But fate struck and her feet didn't see the slight dip in the ground and she staggered for a fraction of a second but the hesitation was enough for the one behind her to make a grab for her. She was tackled from behind, someone's arms locked around her middle, using their weight to shove her to the side and her momentum sent both of them rolling and tumbling until they hit the ground _hard_.

She felt like something cracked and pain erupted like a hungry flame devouring gasoline in her side, but her adrenaline kicked into overdrive and despite the strong arms wrapped tightly around her, still, she fought to get free. She clawed the arms trying to stop her until she drew blood and heard a grunt of pain. The moment they loosened just the slightest she was scrambling onto her hands and knees trying to get away. And then with a strength of muscle mass that she could not fight, no matter how terrified she was, her body was slammed back onto the ground.

A strangled yelp jumped out of her and she twisted, despite the roaring pain, trying to wiggle out of their grasp.

"She's jacked! She's jacked, man!" Voices called out, finally catching up to them.

"Hold her Minho—"

"Let me go!" She screamed, face in the ground, but the boy holding her only flipped her beneath him, pinning her down by straddling her. Liz didn't even care about the pain, the discomfort, she just wanted to be free. She was terrified out of her mind and she _hated_ being trapped. Eyes of iron and fire glared up and she felt a pang of betrayal as she realized that it was Minho who had stopped her, it was Minho who kept her trapped here. Suddenly, she hated him.

He must have read that in her eyes because he tightened his grip on both of her arms.

"Not a chance," he spat out. "What the shuck did I say about not staying out by that damn Maze too late, huh?" He gave her a rough shake and Liz's tried to move again but the pain flared up terribly. She cried out sharply.

" _Get off of me!_ "

"Liz!" The name roared out of his mouth and something in her snapped back into place and she stopped immediately, too shocked to move. Her eyes flew to his and stayed and he must have seen it then, that he was piercing through the hole of insanity her mind had fallen in. His voice gentled, but only just slightly as he repeated her name, "Liz, you need to calm down. You're fine, you're just scared." The adrenaline began to fade, slowly, and the pain was radiating through her entire body now making it hard to breathe. But she stopped trying to get away and Minho nodded, like she was doing something good. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

She did. She watched as his chest rose and fell and matched it. His grip shifted on her wrists, no longer a stranglehold but still ready just in case she lost it again. He nodded when she continued taking slow, deep breaths, his eyes never straying from hers and he continued saying her name as often as he could while he gave her soft commands to calm down.

It was only when someone else shifted closer, their hand gripping onto Minho's shoulder, that she realized that they were not alone. In fact, the entire Glade was there, watching her as she was pinned beneath the Keeper of the Runners after very nearly having lost her mind and possibly her life. Her eyes flickered around and she saw Nick crouching down low next to them, face solemn. Then there was Newt and Gally and Alby and so many others, all staring at her, seeing into her.

She was mortified.

But anger was always an easier emotion for her to grasp than the terror that she had felt earlier. Trying to salvage what little, if any, respect she had, she hardened her expression and glared at the boy still straddling her, her voice edging on mean. "Thanks. You can get off me now."

Minho unthreatened by her glare, waited a moment longer, watching to see if she would try to run again, and then he backed off slowly. Liz didn't sit up right away, she didn't think she could with her side feeling like it was on fire, so she stayed down and closed her eyes and tried to stop shaking.

"Hey," she heard someone say and she peeked open one eye to see Nick still in his exact same spot. "What happened there?"

Her mouth opened, ready for some kind of biting retort, and then everything flashed through her mind again, the scream, the thing on the other side of the wall, the terror, trapped, trapped, trapped. She tried to gasp out words and then said lowly, "There's something out there."

"Yeah, no shit." Minho scoffed and her eyes flickered over to him for a brief, irritated second.

"I _heard_ it. That's why I panicked, it was right there, just on the other side of the wall, and then it—why the hell didn't you tell me about this?"

"Would you have believed us?" Nick asked quietly.

She bit her tongue. Angrily, she shoved the heel of her hand into her burning eyes to wipe away any tears before they fell. "Well, what is it?"

There was a long pause and then—

"We call them Grievers."

* * *

 **AN** – It's late, I lost sleep editing this. Sorry for any typos! Also, I sat down to write and had no plan for the last half of this chapter to happen at all. But Liz wanted a proper freak out, so I figured I owed the poor girl one. What can a girl do? Anyways, if that last bit was confusing, there will be more explained later. I hope you're sticking with me, I hope this all made sense, because I have some really fun and really devious things planned. But question, are these chapters getting too long? I keep trying to shorten them but then they keep growing and growing and yeah. So, shorter? Longer? Never stop? Quit now while I can still save my dignity? Let me know!

Also, thanks for reading!

\- RevolutionNow


	4. The Hope

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Bit of a language warning on this one.**

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter Three - The Hope**

"What the hell is a Griever?"

The question cracked through the Glade like a whip. She felt the sting of it as the air abruptly turned raw and full of welts. One by one, the different boys slowly looked to Nick.

"They're," Nick began and paused, searching for the words, "creatures that live in the Maze—"

"—creatures?—"

"—monsters," he corrected.

The crickets chirping through the Glade, the soft murmurs of the others, even her pounding heart seemed to fall silent at the word. Liz's eyes flashed to Nick and then to the others standing around, looking, hoping for someone to crack a smile and tell her that this was just one big joke. But every face was solemn as death and she swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

"And they're… real?" Her voice was very quiet. The leader merely looked at her like the answer was obvious. So she changed the question. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Listen, there's a lot of klunk that we don't have the answers to and the Grievers is one of them. We don't tell Greenies everything at once—it's too much for the mind to handle and they break, I've seen it before—"

"How many have they killed?" She cut him off. Nick stopped, his eyes hard.

"Seven."

Liz went silent, her blue eyes catching the light of a torch nearby, face completely pale.

Monsters. Monsters that lived in the Maze. The Maze that had them trapped in this clearing. For some reason, the first thing she thought of was not the fear or the sound of the Grievers scream earlier, but Minho. The boy with the biting tongue and raven hair; the Keeper of the Runners. He went into the Maze every day without fail, taking the risk that no one else would take in the search for freedom. Her eyes found his and he stared back at her, like he knew she finally understood. She saw fire in those eyes, still burning from their confrontation earlier but there was something more, something that had always been there just under the surface, barely contained.

She saw rage.

It swirled in his eyes, the color of human desperation and the blood of so many children (because, in the end, that's what they all really were). It was an agony that ate at him—an ignition that never turned off, it pushed him beyond exhaustion and reason. All of that wrapped around skin and bone and flesh like the rest of them. That was Minho.

She never realized before how brave he was.

Liz tore her eyes away, muttering a soft curse, and tried to sit up. Only the burning ember in her side suddenly flared into an inferno making her hiss loudly and fall back to the ground, hand grasping at her ribs. Her breath came in short pants and she screwed her eyes shut at the pain, a low moan escaping between her gritted teeth.

Hands were on her now, feeling along her ribs until she cursed louder and slapped them away. Then Nick shouted, "Med-Jack!"

Other hands then, these ones infinitely more gentle, and Liz opened her eyes to see the quiet Med-Jack, Clint, kneeling beside her. She hadn't really spoken to him before, aside from formalities when they had first been introduced. He had been one of the first ones in the Maze, a soft spoken boy with gray hairs already dusting the top of his dark head; she didn't know if that was how he was naturally or how this place had rendered him.

He slowly tilted her head from side to side, a small hand running from the back of her head along her neck, "Any pain here?"

Liz bit her lip and shook her head.

"Can you show me where the pain is the worst?" He asked.

Liz motioned to the center of the flame just below her breast and Clint softly pushed her hand out of his way and ghosted his fingers over her side, feeling and pressing. Her other hand dug into the grass beside her and she squeezed her eyes closed.

His hand drew away and he spoke in a low tone.

"Hold her head still, please. I don't want her neck moving around too much when we do this," before Liz could open her eyes in confusion, firm, warm hands were on both sides of her face, effectively trapping her, and then Clint pressed on the center of her breast bone and if she had thought her side had hurt before, now it was a volcano of molten lava.

" _Mother fu_ —!" Liz squeaked and a great and terrible kind of pain began to build behind her eyes like tiny bricks stacked on unsteady ground ready to topple over and leak out of her. Clint immediately eased off but she was still gasping, blinking back treacherous tears.

"Anything broken?"

"Hard to tell, but I don't think so. Her breathing is hindered but not too much. My guess is that the rib is deeply bruised. But if I'm wrong, either way, she's going to need to rest for a while. It should heal up fine if she doesn't move around much."

"Should we head to the clinic and tape it up?"

"No. Constriction might help with the pain but it will also make it harder for her to breathe. She needs to be able to get air into her lungs to prevent infection. Honestly, the best thing we can do is just let her rest. She'll be fine."

Liz's face contorted. "Yeah? Tell that to the fucking _fire_ ripping through my fucking _chest_!"

Silence, and then someone above her coughed out a laugh but Liz was too preoccupied to look to see who it was. Earlier, she had felt and even heard something inside of her crack; she realized now that it had been her restraint. She could not bring herself to regret snapping at the Med-Jack even though he had done nothing to deserve it.

Clint, however, was either too mature to rise to the bait or he was too used to hot tempered patients, because he very effectively ignored her outburst and continued speaking in an even voice. "I'll need to see her over the next few days, just to check and see if it's getting worse. But right now all we can really do is get her back to her bed and lay her down for the night."

"Alright Minho, let's get her up." Nick said and Liz opened her eyes. The smirking face of the Runner hovered right above her. Her face was slightly chilled when he let go of her head and shifted back.

Without warning, two hands gripped her gently under her arms and slowly began to pull her up to a standing position. She tensed, every single muscle rigid, as blinding pain shot through her.

"I've got you," Minho said softly, sensing her reaction. "Just relax."

Liz tried to, honestly. But the nearness of his presence, his breath right beside her ear, his arms encircling her body, caused all of the wrong reactions and she tensed even more. She realized, briefly, that it was the first time since she had come to the Glade that she had physical human contact—that is, contact that wasn't restraining her when she was losing her mind. She tried not to think about why she couldn't stop tensing, why it made her so uncomfortable and left her wanting to cry in gratefulness all at once.

And then she was precariously balancing on her own two feet and his presence was gone and another was there. Nick pulled her arm on her uninjured side over his shoulder and bent himself down at an awkward angle so he could help her walk back to the tiny tool shed.

She hadn't noticed before, but the majority of the Gladers that had gathered earlier were gone now, having wandered back to their beds. Maybe they found the situation boring, maybe this happened often, she had no idea but she was profoundly grateful for their absence and whatever semblance of privacy that offered.

Their walk was slow and once she got moving, the pain wasn't as bad. At some point Minho left them to return back to, well, wherever it was he slept at night. Nick didn't say a word and Liz was too busy gritting her teeth to speak, but there was something between them—something that needed to be said and Liz only hoped she could get the courage to spit it out.

Once they reached the tool shed, Nick unwrapped her arm from around his neck and opened the door. It was only then that they realized how unpractical and painful it would be for her to sleep in her hammock like this. Both of them stared at the contraption for a moment, not sure what to do. Exhaustion from the whole night's ordeal hit her suddenly and Liz yawned, just wanting to close her eyes and sleep. She waved a hand in the air.

"It's fine. I'll just lay on the floor." Nick gave her a look and she bristled. "What? Do you have any better ideas?"

"No, actually," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But if you're going to do that, I'll at least get you a blanket. Stay here."

The boy turned quickly and ran off towards the homestead while Liz waited, propped up against the doorframe. It wasn't long before the tall boy came jogging back with a red blanket balled up in his hands. She watched his approach from afar and was struck, for the first time, by how handsome Nick was. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed before, maybe her mind was too focused on other, more important things, but now that she looked… it was undeniable. He might not have been her type (she wasn't even sure what her type actually looked like) but he was still good looking; not overly muscular, but with a good build, broad shoulders, messy light brown hair, seafoam green eyes, his skin tanned from hard work in the sun.

Her eyes dropped to the ground as he drew closer and she bit her lip, ashamed for some odd reason. Nick didn't say a word as he moved past her and began arranging the blanket on the floor right next to her hammock. With both of her beddings taking up the majority of the tool shed, there was just the tiniest space of standing room left and Nick glared at it all.

"We'll get you somewhere better to sleep soon, I promise."

Liz shrugged, "I don't mind."

"Yeah, that may be true, but we're still getting you someplace better."

She didn't have anything to say to that so she gripped the doorframe and gingerly stepped towards the little nest Nick had made. He moved immediately to help her and it was a lot of cursing and his muffled laughter at her creative word choice as she got back down to the hard ground. It sure as hell wasn't comfortable, but better than being bent at an angle in the hammock.

Nick waited, watching as she situated herself, ready to help, and Liz felt a pang of guilt at his diligence. When she got as comfortable as she was going to get, she looked up and found Nick staring hard at her.

For a few minutes he just looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She wondered if she looked different after tonight, if her true face was showing.

She wondered if it was the face of a coward.

"Why did you do it?" Nick asked suddenly and Liz froze.

"Do what?"

"Run."

She laughed then, a quick mocking sound cut off by a grunt of pain and another colorful curse. When her breath returned and the pain subsided, she rose one eyebrow. "I thought that would be an easy guess."

"I meant for the Box. Why did you run there?"

Her eyes burned into his for a long time, her entire body feeling like it was on fire, and then flickered away to the ceiling where it was safer to look. "I don't really know," she said, slowly. "My mind was… somewhere else. All I could think was that there was a way out of here and maybe that was it—that maybe jumping back down that pit, I could get out of here. Or at least back to where I came from." She almost laughed again, but stopped herself. "Stupid, right?"

"Spectacularly."

Her eyes returned to his then and there was something unreadable in his face, something he needed from her and she didn't have the slightest clue as to what it was. She felt it again, the sharp, tangy twinge of guilt and embarrassment. Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her courage.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused," his brows furrowed and she clarified. "I know you've had to deal with a lot of change with having a girl here and I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." He said without hesitation.

She pursed her lips and pressed further. "And I'm sorry for tonight. That was a pretty royal panic."

"It happens to all of us, and yours was not the worst, trust me." Anger swiftly swirled in her throat.

"Can you stop making excuses for me?"

"Not when you keep apologizing for klunk you can't help." Nick shot right back and Liz rolled her eyes. His gaze hardened. "I mean it. Don't do that. Don't… destroy yourself over things you can't control. I know—we all know—you've been hiding out in this little shitbox shed, that you avoid us at meals or any time you can, but you need to get it through your head that we are all you have right now. If any of us are going to make it, we've got to stick together. You are not as alone as you think. Got me?"

Something shifted in her at his words and Liz felt her chest burn with an emotion she couldn't name. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Hey, Nick? Would—" she began, then louder, "—would you die trying to get out of here?"

There were a few moments of silence and something flickered behind his eyes, like a wall coming down, revealing something harsh and real and weighty. "Wouldn't we all?"

Her jaw clenched and she released a slow breath. "I guess it's time for me to stop being so afraid then."

"Good that." Nick agreed, softly.

They didn't say anything else and he quietly closed the door, leaving her in darkness.

For a long time, she simply breathed.

* * *

She woke up with her back pressed against something solid and smooth and cold. There was a light shining her in eyes and a shadow crouched in her sleep blurred vision. Her body felt very distant from her, somehow. Her muscles, achingly tired, not responding fast enough to her brain's command to move. Someone pushed a stray curl off of her forehead and Liz blinked repeatedly until the shadowed boulder-like shape took the form of a softly grinning Newt.

"Hey, Greenie."

"What time is it?" She croaked, her already raspy voice now the gravel-like quality of an eighty year old man.

"Late," Newt said. "We figured we'd let you sleep it off, see if you were a little less crazy this morning."

She stared at him, face serious. "And what's your deduction?"

"Hmm, well, let's see." Newt scooted closer, he pulled down one eyelid and peered at her pupil. Next he tugged on her right earlobe while plugging her nose nosed with his other hand. Grinning, a teasing glint shone in his dark eyes. "Yep. Still crazy. But that's okay, we all are, so you fit in just fine."

He ruffled her hair and Liz stayed still, enduring the torture, glaring daggers at the Glader.

"You keep plotting ways to kill me in your head and I'm not going to give you this," Newt warned, seeing her look, and pulled a wrapped egg sandwich out from behind his back and waggled it in front of her. Liz made a lazy grab for the food, her stomach growling, but Newt moved it just out of reach and clucked his tongue. "Sorry, Greenie, but you're going to have to ask nicely."

She waited a few moments before her face transformed and she smiled beatifically, her voice sugary sweet. "I will tie you up and skin you alive laughing while I do it unless you hand over that sandwich. Right now." Newt's eyes widened slightly and Liz added, as an afterthought, a very polite, "please."

It didn't take long for the sandwich to be placed in her hands. She greedily took a monster bite and chewed, a low moan of appreciation come out of her mouth. A throat cleared.

"You should smile more often, you know," Newt began, his eyes glancing around the tool shed before coming back to rest on her, his hand flapping in her general direction, "does wonders for your face."

Liz rolled her eyes dramatically and swallowed. It was awkward eating while lying down and so she tried to sit up. Thankfully Newt was anticipating that and he moved quickly, grabbing her under the arms like Minho had the night before and gently lifting her body to a sitting position with her back against the wall. Her breath caught, moving around the pain, her fingernails making indentions on the bread in her hand.

"Alright there?"

Nodding, she slowly brought up the sandwich and took another bite.

"You gave us quite the scare last night, running like a madwoman through the Glade and all. Bloody nearly had a heart attack."

"Sorry I upset your delicate disposition," Liz muttered around the egg and bread in her mouth before swallowing and biting another mouthful.

"Me? Nah, I'm not delicate. It's the others I'm worried about. Alby's a really sensitive guy, you know." She snorted, then grimaced and Newt grew more serious. His hand went to her shoulder and gave her an awkward sort of pat. "Seeing as how you're out of commission today, where would you like to spend your day lazing away while the rest of us work our arses off?"

She gave him a look and shrugged. "Someplace quiet, away from—"

"Nope."

"… No?"

"Nope. Not gonna cut it, miss. You've isolated yourself enough from us and it's time to face the music—there is no avoiding us any longer. Not after you've officially joined the crazy club and made everyone panic. That means you're one of us. Now, I'll ask again, where would you like to spend your day?"

Liz fell silent, remembering her conversation with Nick last night.

 _I guess it's time to stop being so afraid._

She thought for a while as she finished off her sandwich and Newt grumbled, "By all means, please, take your time. It's not like I have anything to get done today."

Just for that, she smirked and exaggeratingly slowed her chewing. " _Hmm_ …."

Newt flicked her nose and it made Liz jump and then cringe away from the pain. The blond boy looked only slightly repentant. Liz glared at him and sniffed haughtily, "I'll go hang out with Frypan."

"Girls always go for the cooks." Newt bemoaned and Liz shook her head.

"Not really, we go for the food."

Newt laughed, "Is that right? Well then, I'm sure you'll weasel something out of that big softy before the day is over. Alright, up you go, we have places to go, people to see."

"We?" She asked as he helped her to gradually stand.

"Oh? Did I forget to mention?" Newt grinned at her and it was a little on the wicked side. "You get to have my lovely company for the day. Lucky you."

Liz looked up at him then, with his laughing eyes and happy personality, and she found herself smiling back at the boy. Maybe being not so afraid of them wouldn't be such a terrible thing. She could at least give it her best shot. She owed them that much.

Drawing in a deep breath, Liz exhaled slowly and let Newt lead her out into the Glade. He talked most of the way, nonsense things, and she was getting more used to his babble. She even appreciated it when it took her attention away from the tearing sort of feeling running down her side with every step. From the look on his face when he would catch her grimace, he was babbling on purpose. When he steered her towards a medium sized building that she had never been in before, she became confused.

"Frypan is that way," she pointed out.

"Yes, excellent observation. But we're stopping by the clinic first so Clint can get a second look at you."

"Oh," was all she said, her voice still hoarser sounding than usual. What she really needed was a gallon of water to chug.

They passed by the Builders site and Liz naturally kept an eye out for the BrowMan, but he found them first, walking over with that fast paced, made-his-mind-up-and-nothing-can-change-it-so-get-of-his-way sort of step of his.

"Newt," Gally nodded and then his eyes settled on her. "Hey, Greenbean. Feeling better?"

"Meh," was the answer Liz graced him with.

Gally grinned sharply. "You'll live."

"So grateful for your confidence." She said, voice flat.

The Browman laughed, though she didn't find it nearly as funny. Then he straightened, hand coming to his jaw. "Listen, it sucks you had a bad night and got injured for it, but since this interferes with your second day of your tryout and all… I know you wanted to give it a shot, but, let's be honest: you're not cut out to be a Builder. So it's a 'no' from me."

Her heart sank with disappointment as Gally so casually rejected her for the job, and she didn't even know why. It was true, she wasn't that good at making things, but she hated failing and this felt like just that. Failure.

Gally must have seen it on her face because he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably muttering a mere, "sorry, Greenie. Good luck with the other guys."

Liz watched him walk away and frowned. She shouldn't be this upset, really, but still, it throbbed. Newt finally snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and she turned back to him, decidedly grumpy, which did not deter him in the least.

"Why the glum face?" She said nothing and Newt gentled his voice, but only just. "Don't worry, there'll be other jobs. Besides, don't tell Gally, but you don't want to be a Builder. Bunch of brawn but no brain."

"What do you do, Newt?" Liz asked suddenly, realizing that she had no idea where it was that he worked.

The blond stiffened and then a very self-satisfied smirk took over his face as he puffed out his chest. "Third-in-command, missy." Her brows shot up in surprise—she would not have guessed he was that highly ranked in the Glade, if she were being honest.

"So… what does the third-in-command do, exactly?"

"Eh, third-in-command gets the shuck jobs. Cleaning up after Nick and Alby, doing their dirty work, babysitting crazy girl-Greenies, you know." He listed off and when they reached the door to the clinic, he pounded on it with his fist. "Clinty-boy! I got your newest patient here waitin' for ya."

Liz wondered, briefly, at Newt's odd accent. No one else in the Glade spoke so distinctly British and she wondered why he was different. She didn't have time to think on that any more as the door to the clinic was opened and Clint stood there giving Newt a funny look.

The Med-Jack was small, about the same height as Liz but he was slighter. His hands were small and almost delicate looking, his features refined. But there was something about him, the way he spoke and moved that felt… old; ancient, really. Not in a bad way, but it a way that made Liz fuzzily think of paintings in a museum; beautiful pieces of art that were thousands of years old, hung with absolute care. They were created with tender brush strokes; every move carefully thought out and planned to get the perfect blend of color and held with high esteem by onlookers. It was a delicacy that Liz did not expect to find in the Glade.

But then again, she supposed anyone who had buried as many Gladers as Clint had would seem older and maybe more fragile than the rest of them.

"Come on in," he stood aside and Liz gingerly made her way in the hut.

There was a table with a white sheet over it that Clint motioned for her to sit on and Newt was a great help in actually getting her on the table. He couldn't quite lift her, but he took enough of her weight in his arms that it made it an infinitely less painful process. There were wooden shelves on the walls, packed with different supplies—bandages, creams, gauze, medical tape and scissors and a number of other things including different looking plants. She was curious about those, having remembered someplace in her mind that there was a lot of medicinal value in nature. Overall, the clinic was neat, organized and smelled clean—not in the way the Glade smelled fresh, but this was the medicated kind of clean; antiseptic.

Clint came back, wiping off his hands on a towel and offered her a closed mouth smile. There was something very sad about that smile, Liz thought. "Newt, can you help her lay back on the table?"

Laying back hurt, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out. When she was flat on the table, Clint spoke calmly. "Alright, I'm going to need to lift up your shirt to check the color of your skin around your ribs."

Liz felt her face turn red and she was glad he explained to her before he did it. Her mouth was too dry to answer, so she merely nodded and turned her eyes to the ceiling.

She didn't dare to look at Newt or at the Med-Jack as he rolled her shirt up to just under her breasts, exposing her soft, pale stomach. His fingers were cold as they traced lightly across her ribcage and she tried not to flinch away, immensely uncomfortable. But any shyness vanished from her mind the moment Clint pressed lightly down on the offending rib and she grunted in response.

The next thing she knew he was rolling down her shirt and she was still grimacing from the pain. Clint helped her to sit up and said matter-of-factly, "I'm still not convinced that it's cracked. But the contusion is large enough that it has me concerned. Try to avoid moving as much as possible for the next three days and make sure you take at least one deep breath every hour or so. It'll help keep your lungs healthy."

"Great," Liz mumbled less than enthusiastically. She had no idea what in the world she was going to do, lying around for three days.

"Come see me again first thing tomorrow morning." Clint instructed and Liz gave him a lazy thumbs up.

Newt walked over to the table, a funny expression on his face, and Liz had the distinct feeling that he hadn't turned his eyes away when she was being examined and she didn't know what to think of that. Especially when he caught her looking at him and shrugged, like he couldn't help it, and silently helped her off the table and out of the clinic without a single apology.

The awkwardness lasted only as long as it took to arrive at the kitchens. Newt sat her on the grass, in the shade, her back leaning against a tree. Frypan found them soon after, his brow sweaty from slaving over an open fire, but his smile was blinding and he waved and immediately went back into his fortress only to return with a warm piece of homemade bread drizzled with fresh honey. Liz thought she might have actually drooled a little at the smell and Newt was eyeing her treat like a starving man.

Smirking, she bit into it and made a show of wiping the bit of honey away that leaked out of the corner of her mouth. Aware of her game, the third-in-command hit her with the most devastating puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. He even added a small quiver in his bottom lip.

She liked to think it wasn't his begging that made her tear the bread in half and give one piece to the blond Glader, but maybe, perhaps, it was the realization that he might be her very first friend in the Glade and that meant something to her.

* * *

Spending the day by the kitchens was by far the best idea she had ever had in her entire life. It helped Liz to realize an important fact about herself; food might very well be the main, and possibly only, way to her heart. And with the amount of treats and snacks Frypan kept sneaking her, the cook had wormed his way under her skin before she even realized it. But then again, so had Newt.

They wasted the afternoon away with a lot of teasing and laughter—that is, until tears leaked out of Liz's eyes from the pain of laughing and Frypan promptly bonked Newt over the head with his wooden spoon for making her cry. But that only made Newt yelp and Liz cry all the more. The blond, needing revenge, took a nearby fork and flung it at the cook, only his aim was terrible and the flying utensil missed and, instead, got stuck in Liz's thick mane of curly hair. Beat red, the Glader tried to untangle it from her hair, apologizing profusely and Liz, unable to stop laughing, was now flat out sobbing.

Alby was walking by then, all hard steel and business. He stopped and stared at a guilty looking Newt, took in Liz's face contorted with pain and streaks of tears running down her cheeks with a fork stuck in her hair, and Frypan grinning unabashedly. After a moment, the older boy told them with all seriousness that whatever was wrong with them was no little thing.

As Alby was out of sight and earshot, the three cracked up again. Frypan slapped his thighs soon after with a satisfied sigh and stood, "Welp, sorry kids, but it's getting late and I need to check and see how the other guys are coming along with the dinner."

Liz said goodbye softly, but Frypan was already gone. A yawn swiftly overtook her and when it passed, she blinked, sleepier than she should be considering it was the middle of the afternoon. Newt was watching and laughed.

"And now it's time to tuck you in. Come on, afternoon nap it is." Liz began to protest but Newt was insistent. "Doctor's orders. Come on, come on."

She let him help her up without complaint and slowly made her way back to the tool shed. After the ordeal of getting back down to the ground for her make-shift blanket bed, Liz was out like a light before Newt even closed the door.

She did not dream.

* * *

Soup night always caused a ruckus.

Nick wasn't really sure why, he didn't even really like the stuff, but the guys went nuts over it. Lip-licking, pot-scraping, occasional fist-fighting-over-seconds kind of nuts. The young leader stretched his legs out and leaned back on his elbows against the picnic style bench, watching the stampede of hungry Gladers rush the kitchen window where Frypan defended his keep with nothing but a wooden spoon.

Nick was tired. He could feel it in his bones, that deep, pulsing ache. It had been a long couple of days, and though he would never admit it to the girl, a lot of his exhaustion surrounded Liz's arrival and the Glade's subsequent panic.

She might not have known it, but things were shaking, shifting, moving and most of that shaking, shifting, and moving centered on her.

For example, the night she came was the very first time since arriving in the Glade that Nick dreamed. A year and a half and nothing and then she comes up out of the ground and suddenly every single night he was plagued with the same, or similar enough to be the same, dream. The whole ordeal was fuzzy and confusing, but the message was clear and repeated so many times in his mind that he woke up saying it:

Trust the girl.

Keep her alive.

She knows the way.

It shook him to his core and he didn't dare breathe a word of it to Alby. Because while Nick was naturally drawn to her, for whatever reason, Alby was set on edge by her very presence. In fact, she seemed to split them all, pulling interesting reactions from the different Gladers; either they were on her like a shucking magnet or driven away by her. It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong to deserve the suspicion though. When Nick eventually confronted some of the other Gladers about it, they simply said that something about her just felt… off. And it made them nervous.

After that, he watched his Gladers carefully around her and, to him, the split was obvious enough. She was still in the shock of the first week that she hadn't noticed the difference and Nick personally hoped she wouldn't for a while. She didn't need anything else to encourage her isolation.

They all knew what happened to Gladers when they began to isolate.

Which was why Nick was giving her one week, he always gave Greenies the first week to figure things out, and then he planned to drag her out of that tool shed, even if she came kicking and screaming.

He had brought his hand up to his chin, his thumb running over his bottom lip, caught deep in thought, when Newt arrived.

"Hullo Captain," Newt greeted and Nick rose one eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be babysitting today?"

"Sure am, only Greenbean needed a nap and I, always one to encourage napping, let her go sleep it off."

Nick was silent for a moment. "How was she today?"

"Better," Newt said with a nod. "Still kind of quiet and standoffish. But better. She spent a lot of time with me and Fry, so that was an accomplishment."

The leader nodded in agreement, knowing that he had given Greenie duty to the right Glader. Newt had a way with people, making them feel comfortable… often comfortable enough to underestimate how utterly brilliant and flat out cunning he was behind his wacky grins and endless commentary. He was very useful around the Glade, if Nick were honest, always found things out before the rest of them; he could read people and their intentions like the pages of a book.

Which was why Nick also felt inclined to gravitate towards Liz, rather than push her away. Newt, whose intuition was reputable, was one of the ones on her like a magnet. That was enough for Nick.

"Any news from our Runners?" Newt asked casually, his gaze staying on the Gladers as they ribbed each other while waiting for their food.

"No, but we're meeting in an hour in the Map Room. Be there."

Neither boy said another word and Nick felt his mind begin to wander, like it often did when he was this exhausted. However, the sudden and sharp jab of an elbow in his side made him jump. He glared at the boy next to him but Newt ignored the threat and nodded slightly to a shadowed figure standing just on the edge of where the ring of light from the torches reached. It was obvious enough, even from where they were, to tell who it was. No other Glader had long, wild curls.

"Was only a matter of time," Newt murmured, a proud grin overtaking his face.

"Think she'll actually come over?"

"She's made it this far, give her a little credit. She's braver than we think."

The two waited, faces and body language carefully neutral, but their eyes silently pulling her past the barrier she had encased herself in. She rocked forward, then stopped, and Nick felt a smile tug at his lips watching her mind rage in its own battle of tug-o-war. He saw her fists bunch at her side, twisting the shirt she wore, her shoulders heaved, and then, slowly, she stepped into the light.

But only just.

"Atta girl," Newt said, more to himself than anything.

They weren't the only ones who noticed her arrival. Different boys sent curious or guarded glances her way. It was Gally though, surprisingly, who made the first move. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he held the bowl of potato soup under her nose. Gally's back was to him, making it impossible for Nick to see what the Keeper of the Builders said, but Liz, looking as if she were deeply touched, took the bowl and smiled, wide and true.

Nick frowned when Gally simply turned and left her, realizing that she might just stand there like some statue while she ate; brave enough to come into the light but still too frightened to be one of them. He was about to turn to Newt, telling him to get a move on it before she ran off, but the boy didn't need any extra push in the Greenie's direction. He was already ambling his way over, ushering her to a nearby table.

When the leader noticed who Newt steered her to, he laughed. The third-in-command didn't play fair, he thought, as he saw Myles, the Glade's youngest with a head of orange fire and freckles splattered all over his face, wave a welcome to the Greenie. When he saw the tension in her shoulders, visible from where he was, _melt_ in reaction to Myles big brown eyes, Nick thought that Newt flat out played dirty.

Shaking his head and grinning, he thought that Liz looked a little odd and out of place, a splash of color among a world of gray. But Nick thought, for the first time, that she also might look a little bit like she belonged.

* * *

Somewhere during the evening, she had lost her shoes.

Liz wasn't a fan of wearing shoes in the first place, she wasn't sure that she ever had been. Every fiber of her being hated anything that made her feel trapped—including the fact that tennis shoes restrained her toes from having full wiggling freedom. It was an odd thing, she supposed, but she was much happier barefoot.

There was a fuzzy sort of feeling in her chest, fluttering around like a bird trapped in her ribcage, it tickled and left her with a soft smile on her face. She wondered what it meant that she felt this way after spending her first evening with the Gladers. She felt… lighter. Not happy, exactly, but more like she fit in, in an odd sort of way.

She stayed with them much later than she had intended, witnessed an impromptu arm wrestling match between one of Minho's fast talking Runners who had more attitude than there was room for at the table and a nearly mute Slicer named Tim, eaten three bowls of heavenly creamy potato soup, and reverted back to not sharing her food with Newt on account of his merciless discharging of his greatest weapon in the Glade: Myles.

Maybe it was some misplaced maternal instinct (although, that couldn't be true, because Newt said he was just as effective on any of the guys), but the twelve year old effectively demolished her shyness. And any time she started to withdraw, Newt nearly shoved the boy in her arms.

It had been getting late and most of the others had turned in for the night when she had started to wander back to her tool shed. It took some convincing for Newt that she was capable of walking on her own and a firm promise that she would go slow before he let her walk by herself.

And in all truth, she really did mean to go straight back to her bed, but before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the Glade, staring at the imposing walls, the stone snare containing them. Memories of the night before came, flooding her heart with terror and screaming and pain. She didn't go as far as she had the other nights, only went half way to her usual spot by the wall of names before she stopped.

"What, you gonna chicken out now?"

Liz didn't jump this time, her heart stayed even, and she didn't turn to face him. She had caught glimpse of him only briefly during dinner, but something in her had known he would follow.

Minho came to stand by her side, his gaze locked on her, dark eyes glittering in the night, voice mocking. "You going to let one little Griever scream scare you away?"

"Isn't that what you want?" He didn't answer and Liz's question was tired and raspy and low. "Why did you follow me?"

"A number of different reasons," he voice sounded calm and it didn't match his eyes in the slightest. "The most honest reason is that I wanted to make sure you didn't go crazy again."

She gave a nod and waited. His eyes searched hers and he seemed to be considering his options.

"The other is that out of any person who has come out of that Box, you are the only one whose first response to this place wasn't…" Minho stopped and drew in a deep breath, changing his mind swiftly. "For a long time I was the only one who would dare to come out to these walls at night. And then I see you and… If there is a way out, like you say… I think you might find it," he said, his eyes burning, leaning forward slightly.

Her stomach jolted and she stared at him for a minute, in complete shock. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and disbelieving, "So what—you think… you think I could make it as a Runner or something?"

The question sounded stupid, but a very small, very brightly burning part of her wondered. Minho moved towards her and she could feel the heat of his body from where she stood, his voice a low, serious rumble. "You think I would ever let you step foot in there?"

Frustrated and confused, Liz laughed and there was no humor in it, just the pain aching through her middle. She embraced that pain and let it all bleed into her voice. "Then why say all of that?"

The silence that stretched between them grew miles wide and Liz for a long while thought he wasn't going to answer and then—

"Because whether you know it or not, whether _they_ know it or not, you have hope," he voiced, and Liz felt that bird flutter, trapped inside of her skin, trying to rise and fly at his words as they marked her soul. "A stupid, crazy kind of hope and I don't want that to die."

* * *

 **AN** – Slow moving chapter with lots of getting to know the characters. Hopefully I didn't bore you too much. Also, I'm sleepy after a long week. Any typos are completely my fault.

Thanks amazing reviewers! I was surprised, to be honest, to see how many of you shared your thoughts last chapter and I just wanted to say... _**SQUEE**_! It made me so happy to know people are actually enjoying this as much as I am having fun writing it.

OH! One last thing, I am considering moving this rating up to M but I'm not sure. I would do it mainly for language and violence… and yeah, it is a slow burn, not that there will be an explicit content, but things will get a bit uh, hot, later on. Anyways, just a heads up about that possibility.

Thanks for reading!

\- RevolutionNow


	5. The Nest

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter Four – The Nest**

"We've sat on this for a week now. Section three is opening again today and if we miss this window, it'll be another week. I've made my decision." Minho informed them, arms crossed, stance ready. The three leaders had stuffed themselves into the Map Room, their presence making the place seem much smaller than it actually was. Alby was bent slightly, fingers tapping on a wooden table in a slow, steady rhythm, eyes studying the scattered drawings and papers that Minho had been making of the different sections. "I'm going back."

Nick's head shot up from the map he was looking over, face in no small amount of surprise. His eyes naturally moved over to the boy with skin the color of dark coffee and he grimaced. Minho never had been one to mince words and Alby had never been one to take that very well, evident when his posture stiffened, spine straightening, jaw ticking, everything about him bristling like a big, angry, territorial bear.

"Is that a question or are you just telling us what you're going to do?"

Minho didn't say a word, but he boldly turned and stared at the other boy. It wasn't a challenging gaze, just matter-of-fact, like everything about the Keeper of the Runners was. This was what he was going to do and no one would stop him. For as long as Nick could remember, Minho had never really the type to have a pissing contest with the other guys—he was about action. He simply said and did whatever the hell he wanted and if the others didn't keep up, it was their own damn fault. He obeyed authority—if it was someone he respected—but he also very plainly let any of them know when they were making a dick move.

Usually with his fists.

Sensing the tension, Newt purposefully shifted forward until all eyes were drawn to him. "It's a serious risk, Minho."

"Comes with the territory of being of Runner. I know what I'm getting myself into."

"Do you?" Alby asked abruptly, eyes hard.

"I'm not scared to die, if that's what you're asking," Minho bit out.

"This isn't a question of courage, slinthead."

"Then what point are you trying to make, Alby?" The Runner stepped forward and in the already small space, it didn't take much for him to be nose to nose with Alby.

"Calm down, both of you." Newt spoke up, eyes flashing between the two Gladers, his voice firm. "Look, if the Grievers behavior is changing, we need to know. We have lived in fear of them for a year and a half now and I don't know about you but I'm getting sick of being so bloody afraid all of the time. I think we need to be prepared and to be prepared we have to know what is going on and the only way to do that is to go back and take a closer look," Newt paused and a bitter grin twisted his lips. "Because no one else is going to help us in this God-forsaken place."

Silence fell after his speech, and, like usual, one by one, the different boys in the room turned to Nick.

Sometimes he hated it when they did that.

"I agree with Newt," Nick spoke slowly and before Alby could open his mouth, he held up a hand to stop him. "But I also agree with Alby." Nick turned, his eyes boring into Minho. "It _is_ a serious risk, we can't deny that. No one gets too close to the Grievers or they die… However, this is also too big of an opportunity to pass by. So, I say go back and try and find the area again, see if there is any reason as to why they're congregating, but don't go alone. No more of this maverick solo shit you like to pull. Take one of the other Runners with you—Frankie. This is reconnaissance only. If anything, and I mean _anything_ , seems fishy, get the shuck out of there and don't look back. You understand?"

Nick gave the command in a tone that could not be ignored and Minho, the son of a bitch, grinned and there was something savage about it, "Got it, boss."

The Keeper of the Runners grabbed his backpack and began to check the contents, preparing his supplies for the day's journey, clearly done with this conversation. Newt nodded in approval and made his way out of the Map Room, Alby following him closely, his shoulder bumping Nick's as he passed. The older boy sighed, knowing the tirade that was coming. He turned to follow them, then stopped.

"Minho," he said, evenly, as he stepped out of the Map Room into the early morning light, "when you go out there today?"

Minho gave a slow nod. Nick's voice went flat.

"Don't get yourself killed."

* * *

Nick silently followed Alby, the two of them heading towards the deadheads where they knew no other Glader would follow. The tension in the air was palpable, crackling like electricity between the two of them, but Nick had been through enough of Alby's rants to not be intimidated by the explosive outburst that was sure to come.

When they reached the cover of the trees though, Nick's arms prickled with a chill that wasn't entirely from the temperature drop. This place always gave him the creeps. When they had gone far enough, he stopped and waited, patiently, while the other boy paced back and forth and then Alby wheeled on him and it was not the grenade he expected.

It was calm and calculating and dripping with blame.

"If he dies, it's on you."

Stunned, Nick stared at Alby for a long time.

Above him, a family of birds chattered to each other, flitting about the different tree branches, chirping and greeting the morning happily. Odd, Nick thought, that so much life gathered around the dead. Memories, harsh and dark and full of blood and smoke flashed through his mind. Friends, brothers, _boys_ who had died violent and young and without mercy. Their graves were some of the first seeds planted in this Glade and Nick was never one to put much weight on symbolism, but even he couldn't help but shiver at the thought.

Something went cold in his stomach, like a dead weight that would sink him to the bottom of a cool, dark pool.

"Don't you think I know that?" He asked softly, his voice echoing and to him, it sounded hollow.

"Just wanted to make sure you remember."

The words were biting and Nick was left staring at his friend—his right hand, the dependable muscle that wasn't afraid to make the hard decisions, to enforce what needed to be done, the boy who had been there with him since the start, who had survived the dark days—as he turned and walked away leaving him behind in the deadheads.

Looking around at the different graves, Nick spoke to them.

"I'll never forget."

* * *

The darkness was a living thing. Moving, breathing, engulfing her, drowning her and then—

 _"Can you fight it?"_

An ember glowed to life inside of her chest, crackling with a sure fire that seared her very soul. She knew what she was supposed to do.

 _"Yes."_

Flashes of light wheeled above her, terror bit at her skin, she flinched but she was strapped down. Trapped, trapped, trapped, trapped, trapped. She fought to get lose, grunting and cursing, then a face appeared above her, eyes grim, searching, asking—begging something of her.

 _" **Remember**."_

Liz's eyes flew open, wide and unseeing—like she had stuck her fingers into an electrical socket. She gasped loudly, her back arching off the ground and her chest heaving as if she had never breathed oxygen before and may never breathe it again. She felt a tear rip through her side, shooting through her middle and wrapping around her heart, squeezing, until everything came to life at once; the Maze, the Glade, the monsters beyond the walls, the animalistic need to _get out_.

"There is always a way out!" The words flew out of her mouth before she even registered what she was saying, they were a desperate gasp, a fleeting hope that she was holding onto with a death grip.

"Bad dream?"

Liz inhaled sharply, eyes flashing to the door of the tool shed. Newt stood there, his posture was casual, mouth quirked up on one corner, but something about him lacked his usual mirth. He stepped inside and squatted down, looking her over. It was his eyes. His eyes were alive and calculating and there was something in them that she had never really seen before and it struck Liz for the first time—

 _Don't underestimate him._

She blinked and blinked again, not entirely sure where that thought came from or why it rang true through her being, waving a red flag, alerting her to something that she had previously been asleep to.

Newt kept his face carefully blank in light of her terror. "Most of us don't dream at all, you know."

Liz stared at him. He tilted his head.

"What'd you dream about?"

Part of her was screaming to keep her mouth shut, reminding her that she didn't know this boy, couldn't really trust him, but she fought against that and shoved it away angrily. Sucking in a deep breath and ignoring to pain radiating through her, she forced herself to think clearly, to shake off whatever had tried to creep up on her while she slept, hooking its little tendrils of distrust and fear in her heart and mind.

This was Newt. The boy she thought might be her friend.

"I can't remember," she said slowly. "And I'm supposed to. But I can't."

"Maybe it'll come back. Or maybe you're better off not remembering," Newt waited a moment, then, as if making up his mind about something, he moved to grab her under her arms, "either way, you're late."

"For what?" She asked lifting her arms as he helped her to stand. The pain was already slightly decreasing in her ribs but it would still easily be another couple of weeks before she would be fully functional without assistance from other Gladers. The thought of being the only girl _and_ so helpless for so long was not a pleasant one.

It must have shown on her face because Newt gave her a small, understanding smile. "It'll pass," he squeezed her shoulder, his tone kind, "it'll pass. But for now you're going to spend the day with Clint, since you'll be seeing him kind of regularly, at least until you're healed up. I figured you'd hate just sitting around doing nothing, so today you can help roll bandages, sterilize equipment, that sort of thing."

She trudged out of the tool shed and into the Glade beside him. "Already passing me off to the next babysitter?"

"Maybe if you'd learn how to not go completely bonkers, we wouldn't need a babysitter for you."

Rolling her eyes and then catching a glimpse of what was quickly becoming her favorite place in the entire Glade, she pointed towards the kitchens. "Can't I hang out with Frypan?"

"Definitely not," Newt shook his head adamantly. "Other Gladers need food and if you spend one more day in the kitchens there will be nothing left."

"Is food all you care about?" She dead-panned.

"Naturally," the blond grinned and nodded to Zart as they passed by the gardens and headed towards the clinic. The giant Keeper glanced at Liz and then back at Newt and raised one hand to the blond in greeting. The deliberate ignoring of her didn't pass her notice. Her brows furrowed as she silently wondered what she might have done to offend him until a bony finger gave her stomach a swift poke.

Grunting in surprise, she turned and glared at the tall, lanky Glader. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. Just think I'm not the only one whose complete and total devoted interest is in food."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she stopped walking for a second before shutting her mouth with a click, grumbling, "Clearly you haven't been around enough girls to understand that calling them fat is taboo."

"Oh," Newt turned, eyes all wide and innocent. "I never said you were fat."

"Then what the hell was that about?"

"To see your face turn that funny shade of red."

Liz stopped walking again, all too aware now that her cheeks were burning, especially when Newt smiled brazenly and reached over and poked one like he had done to her belly a moment before. A great retort came to mind and Liz's lips twisted as she sucked in a deep breath and then stopped, sniffed the air deeply, face wrinkling in disgust. "What…"

Newt bit his bottom lip and merely pointed down to their feet. Liz glanced down and gagged when she realized she was standing in a pile of cow shit.

 _Perfect_.

Newt burst out laughing claiming that this must have been the answer to Minho's prayers after she had slaughtered his running shoes on her first day. Liz ignored that and repeatedly wiped her shoe on clean grass, gagging the entire time. They had passed the Bloodhouse and animal pens a while ago but she supposed the cows had been out grazing in this area early this morning, as the evidence was still quite… fresh.

"Oh god, this is disgusting," she muttered, dragging her foot behind her as they began walking again.

"I'm sorry, what was it you were going to say earlier?" Newt asked with a shit-eating grin on his lips—Liz thought there should be an emphasis on the _shit-eating_ part.

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, realizing that she had completely forgotten whatever brilliant thing she had planned and so she merely looked to the ground and muttered a barely audible, "Shuck-face."

"Ah," Newt nodded in understanding. "Now I'm the shuck-face. I thought that was Gally."

Liz's eyes widened.

"He told you about that?"

"No, he's got too much pride, it was his Builders that ratted you out," Newt continued walking, and Liz would have had a difficult time keeping up with his long strides even without the injury. "You're lucky he didn't pummel you. It must pay off sometimes to be a girl, he's done worse to others for less."

Liz thought about that as they arrived at the clinic door, she thought about how Gally had been the first to welcome her when she finally found the courage the join the others for dinner. She thought about how he had grinned at her and told her not to get used to the special treatment and how that one little action was what convinced her to stay.

"Yeah, well he doesn't seem too mad at me."

Newt was grinning at her when she looked up from the ground. "Like I said, it pays off to be a girl. Now, She-bean—"

"— _She-bean?!_ —"

"—Hush," Newt held up one finger. "Papa is talking." Liz's face contorted as she mouthed the word " _Papa_ " in complete confusion. But Newt was either oblivious or didn't care as he just continued with his instructions. "This is where I'm dropping you. Behave, learn something, and don't go wandering off. I don't have time today to chase you down."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Man of priorities."

"Exactly. And believe it or not, you are not one of them. Now, be good."

The blond Glader turned on his heel and left her standing on the clinic's doorstep. Liz watched him go thinking to herself that the last bit he said might have actually hurt a bit.

She tried not to think too much on it. After all, she appreciated the friendship she was building with Newt, she thought he was funny and kind and a bit peculiar, but she wasn't stupid. She knew that Newt, the third-in-command, didn't just hang around her because he had nothing to do. He was assigned to her and she was a job.

She tried to remind herself of that when Newt starting wiggling about under her skin, making her drop her guard without even realizing it.

* * *

Waking up from that dream earlier had put her in a weird mood.

Maybe it was the conversation with Newt, the realization that, in her current state, she was pretty much nothing but a dead weight in the Glade. Maybe it was some left over emotional baggage and freak out that she had yet to fully release since arriving. Maybe it was the cow shit this morning. Maybe it was the overwhelming smell of antiseptic that was starting to cloud her mind. Whatever it was, she was either snapping angrily at people or on the verge of tears.

In general, it had been a sucky day.

Clint wasn't a bad Keeper, or bad company. He was quiet, he worked diligently, his words were kind and he made her as comfortable as she could be rolling bandages and cutting endless pieces of gauze into smaller pieces to save supply. There was no reason for her to feel the way she did. But it could have possibly been the sass-mouthed Slicer that had come in with a good chunk of his palm missing asking her if she could kiss it and make it better.

If she hadn't of been so physically impaired, she might have found one of her trusty rocks that she so enjoyed throwing at the Maze walls every now and then and practiced aiming at his head. She wasn't sure it would have improved his intelligence though. And she definitely hadn't felt smiled when Clint was ruthless in cleaning out the wound as the boy winced and tried to jerk his hand away from the pain.

Nope. She didn't smile _at all._

Despite her mood, she liked being in the clinic. She didn't know if she could spend hours and hours in here, but she definitely got to learn a thing or two and that helped to make her feel like she was doing something useful.

Still, Liz couldn't shake the weird feeling, like something was coming, like something was _wrong_. It set her on edge.

Outside, the wind started to pick up.

* * *

His blood was _buzzing_.

It marched through his veins, rushed in his ears, so the only thing he heard was the pounding of his heart in his chest and his feet on the ground below. Nearly a year of shucking running this place, facing terrors that no other Glader, except for those working under him, could ever possibly understand, nearly a year and he might have found his first clue—if it could even be called that. The first change in the Maze, the first thing out of place in the midst of the vines and moss and clammy feeling that slimed over his skin every time he stepped inside this place.

Veering a sharp left, Minho didn't need to glance behind him to know that Frankie was on his heels. The younger boy was always there, far too competitive to let Minho take too much of a lead. They passed a large barrier, taking four distinct turns that would lead to the inner rings of the Maze.

Holding up one hand, he slowed their run to a jog and then a walk as they reached a narrow passageway. Both Runners panted lightly, but Minho didn't have the privilege to be out of breath. The Maze did not offer such grace, that was a lesson he had learned long ago.

So it didn't take much for Minho to calm himself and listen. He concentrated everything in his being on listening, waiting, seeing if there would be the slightest sound of ticking or whirring or the metallic crunch of a Griever.

Silence answered him.

Minho glanced back at Frankie and the other boy nodded once. He was ready.

They inched forward.

The smell was the first thing to hit them. Minho brought his arm up to cover his nose and he tried to breathe through his mouth at the stench of rot in the air. It hadn't smelled like this last week but then again, he had never gotten close enough to a Griever to know what they smelled like. Reaching the end of the passageway, his head turned right and left, eyes focused, body still, looking for any sort of movement. Satisfied, Minho finally ducked under the moss and stepped out of the narrow passageway. For months before he had this place marked down that the passageway opened up to a dead-end on his maps, but what he had caught a glimpse of last week told him he had been wrong.

Except, now, something was different.

Nothing looked different, but he could _feel_ it. And the smell was stronger.

Minho felt his skin tingle as he moved completely out into the open. Paranoid, he turned in a circle, there was nothing but stone and moss and mist around. But on the ground in front of him, hidden and protected in a corner, was some kind of a large glob of greenish, brownish oozing goo and it _reeked_. Moving closer, Minho stared at the glob and then reached his hand out slowly.

It moved and Minho's hand shot back to his side.

"What is it?"

Something was wrong.

"I think," Minho stood and turned to Frankie, eyes dark and very afraid, "it's a nest."

* * *

 **AN** – Short chapter and I'm not very happy with it, but I've made you wait long enough. Meh. Anyhoo, over the last week or so I ate a lot of popcorn and pretty much had Maze Runner on repeat and a number of different sites open all at once researching lots of different facts. I'm playing around a bit with the Grievers, but just trust me on this... okay? I've got some wicked ( _ha_ ) plots brewing and I'm so excited about it. Hopefully you are, too.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, follows and favorites! I promise, Minho/Liz interaction will increase A LOT. Very soon. As in, the next chapter there will be a TON. Just setting everything up, you know.

Let me know what you thought about this!

\- RevolutionNow


	6. The Brave

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Bit of a language warning on this one because of a couple of very upset Gladers. Why, oh why, do I keep doing this to them?**

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter Five – The Brave**

Frankie stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned, his pulse beating rapidly in the vein in his neck. A sheen of sweat shone across his forehead, a single drop rolled down his temple along his cheek, gathering at the base of his jaw. When he spoke, it fell, splashing a warm, dark spot on the mossy ground.

"A _what_?"

Swallowing, Minho turned back to the bulbous, oozing thing in the corner. His stomach twisting as his mouth shaped the words, "A nest."

"I know, you already said that," Frankie shifted, wiping his arm across his forehead hastily, "but do you mean a nest as in… the Grievers are having fucking babies?"

At a loss, Minho shook his head helplessly. He had never actually seen a Griever up close and personal. None of them had. He had seen them from a distance, but that was usually when he was running for his shucking life.

He had seen other things though.

He had seen what they were capable of. He had seen what his friends looked like after they had been stung, speared, and ripped apart limb by limb. He had seen the evidence of when they had passed through a section of the Maze—the slimy trail they left behind and the long scratches on the stone walls where their sharp metal appendages scraped by. He had heard them, not just the screams, but close enough to recognize the heavy sound of their breath.

He had never seen anything like this, though.

Squatting down on his haunches, Minho swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry. "Maybe. I don't know. It's possible I guess."

"I thought they weren't really animals."

"Let's just assume that we have no idea what they are," Minho told him, his voice sounding suddenly very distant.

"Shit," Frankie exhaled explosively. He gripped a handful of hair, clenching it at the roots and making it stand up on end as he began to panic. "This is bad. This is really shucking bad."

The younger Runner continued talking and Minho felt a flare of anger. They didn't have the luxury of panic. Minho's voice was harsh and as unforgiving as steel. "Slim it, Frankie. When you can man up and calm down, you need to do your job and come over here and take a look at this." The other boy stopped immediately and closed his eyes drawing in a deep, long breath. When he finished, he turned to Minho, seemingly more in control of his fear. The Keeper nodded and then pointed towards the slimy mess piled up in the corner of the little alcove. "Look, it looks like some kind of… placenta."

Minho heard Frankie's footsteps, and then the other boy flinched back. "Whatever it is, it shucking smells, man… Hey… what's that?"

The Keeper's eyes met Frankie's and then slowly traveled down his arm to the finger pointing at a spot higher up on the wall. Squinting, he rose to his feet gradually and then he saw it.

Fuck, Minho thought. _Oh fuck_.

How had he missed that? How in the shucking _hell_ had he missed this klunk?

Eyes roaming over every inch of the stone walls surrounding them, he saw one word. It was gouged out of the stone, cut out of sheer strength and it was everywhere. The walls looked like some crazy Griever had been clawing away at the stone for some time, trying to climb its way up, or… trying to send a message.

One word. Three letters.

 _HER._

 _HER, HER, HER HER HERHERHERHER._

Minho staggered back, taking an uneven step, eyes taking in the entire scene, mind absolutely racing.

Her.

There was only one ' _her'_ that Minho knew.

"Do you think—" Frankie began slowly and then he stopped abruptly, gagging on his words.

Minho spun around at the sound and Frankie's body began to twitch. It started at his fingers and then his hands and arms and everything else began to spasm.

"Frankie? _HEY!_ " Minho yelled as the other boy's body began to convulse, like he was having some kind of fit. Fear etched into his pupils, Frankie turned a look of raw terror Minho's way, the desperate kind of look someone had when they thought they were going to die—the kind of look that Minho had seen all too often in this Maze. Then, suddenly, Frankie's mouth opened in a silent scream and a strangled choking noise caught in his throat and he fell to the ground. Minho slid to his knees, crying out, and scrambling to catch his friend. But Frankie was convulsing so badly now that Minho couldn't hardly hold him as his entire body arched off the ground. Blood ran from his mouth mixing with his gasping air and spit creating a burning bright red foam and Minho tried to hold his head still, trying to pry his mouth open to stop the boy from biting off a part of his tongue as he seized.

But it was too late.

Frankie's eyes began to glaze over and then, just as suddenly as it came, he went still, utterly still.

He was dead.

More blood streamed steadily from his nose and both of his ears and Minho lifted him, frantically pulling him into his lap. "Argh, no! Come on, you slinthead. Wake up," Minho shook him roughly but it was useless. Frankie's head lolled with every shake, his eyes were unseeing, staring blankly at the sky above and Minho let out a loud cry.

The kid had only been fifteen years old.

He had light brown skin, black shaggy hair, and a white scar cutting through one eyebrow from a time that he had run face first into a wall in the Maze. He had a fast talking mouth and more attitude than Minho thought a teenage boy should be comfortable with, he liked to joke and was usually the first person in a group to laugh. Frankie hated holes in his socks and didn't mind helping Fry in the kitchens when he had time off.

Now he was dead. Just like that, his life was gone.

Minho dropped his head, his chin leaning on his chest as he tried to control his ragged breathing. He was too young to be holding his dead friend in his lap. Too young to have seen the end of so many lives. Above all else, he was angry. He was furious and the fucking Creators hadn't even given him a face to throw all of his boiling fury at. Just these damn walls, this Maze and its tricks and traps. But the Maze wasn't someone he could bloody, it wasn't someone he could make _pay_ for the pain and the death.

Tightening his grip on Frankie's body, a furious scream ripped it's was out of Minho's throat colored with all of his fury and fear and frustration.

And then the Griever charged into the opening.

* * *

Lunch was an hour and a half late but, oddly, no one seemed to care. Liz looked down at the creamy soup and grinned, albeit a little on the guilty side.

Spending the day in the clinic had certainly had its perks. Especially when Frypan had come through, looking for a burn cream after losing a battle with a boiling pot and then stopped for a chat when he noticed that she looked bored out of her mind. There were only so many bandages that Liz could roll or gauze that she could cut before she went a little crazy. And Liz liked the cook and felt more comfortable telling him about her weird mood and strange feeling about the day than anyone else. He had listened intently, showing the right amount of concern, and when he asked if there was anything he could do to help, Liz had only half-jokingly told him he could make another round of that amazing soup from the other night.

The guilty little grin stayed on her lips as she wrapped her hands around the bowl and took a deep sniff of the amazing aroma. Potatoes, broccoli, and some kind of white cream, hot and soothing to the soul.

Maybe Newt had been right when he said that it sometimes paid off to be a girl.

Liz eagerly took spoonful after spoonful, not glancing up and not caring when others came and sat at her table. It was too good.

"Woah, girl, slow down. There will still be food tomorrow. Can you even taste it, eating that fast?"

Her gaze rose and landed on a boy with bright green eyes that stood out starkly against his olive skin. He looked about thirteen years old but carried himself like he was twenty-five. She stared at him, spoon stuck in her mouth, like an idiot, and he smirked and stuck out his hand over the table. "Name's Adam, I'm a Bagger."

Keeping the spoon in her mouth, she reached over to grasp his hand.

"Don't worry, no need to be polite and introduce yourself. I already know your name." He rolled his eyes and began eating. Next to him appeared Newt's secret weapon, Myles. The youngest Glader waved a small hand at her and Liz felt something tingly and warm rise up in her belly at the sight of the young boy's perfect dimples.

"And we got another goner," Adam muttered and turned to the younger boy. "Kid, I gotta keep you around in my pocket. If I ever get into deep klunk, I'll just pull you out and let you charm everybody." Snorting, Liz glanced over and took in all of Myles striking features. He was probably one of the most beautiful children she had ever seen, with his fire-like orange hair and button nose. His warm brown eyes met her own gaze curiously, probably because she looked slightly mental with a utensil stuck in her mouth. Liz grinned around her spoon, holding it in place with her teeth and then set it back in her bowl. Nodding to Myles, Adam continued talking to her, "I take it that you've already met Myles. But just in case you weren't aware, he's the Glade's baby."

A swift kick under the table and Adam grunted. Myles glared. Liz was amused. "You don't seem to be much older, Adam."

Adam's face became one big scowl, "Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving."

"Ah, and there she is, the lady of the hour."

Liz's brows rose as she glanced over her shoulder. Newt was ambling their way, his limp much more noticeable than it had even been this morning. Her gaze flickered down to his leg and back quickly, but he must have caught the look by the slight hardening of his eyes though his smile stayed in place. Newt's own bowl of soup was filled to the absolute brim making him have to be particularly careful to not spill any as he walked. When he reached the table, he pointed an accusing spoon her direction.

"I heard that you are solely responsible for throwing off the entire schedule of the Glade and that our system may meet its demise because of your crafty ways. What shall we do?"

"Who's your source?"

"Frypan."

Pursing her lips, Liz brought up a large spoonful of the potato soup and stuffed it in her mouth greedily. "Yeah, well, I think you should be thanking me for the food, not blaming me for the collapse of the Glade. It'll be fine. It's just a small delay."

"Small delay, sure. Then I'll let you be the one to explain that to Alby." Newt smirked and Liz felt her eyes widen in a bit of fear. When he saw her terrified expression, he chuckled.

Others joined them after, a happy, smiling boy named Maurice who was a Slopper that actually eagerly enjoyed slopping and a Slicer named Seth who told too many gory stories from the Bloodhouse than her stomach could handle. Liz kept quiet for most of the meal, still trying to figure out her place, just listening and observing the different boys surrounding her. Newt, however, would sneakily tug on her hair annoyingly when she got "too quiet" as he claimed. When she called him out on being annoying, he blamed the Creators for making him that way and declared that she secretly loved it.

Things got really interesting when Adam and Seth began an argument over who would win in a death match between a drunken Griever and a pissed off Alby that ended up involving almost the entire table. Newt, Myles and Seth were all siding with the Griever while Adam valiantly defended the pissed off Alby. When they looked to her for her input, she abstained from voting on account of lack of proper evidence to make an educated guess. Newt had told her flat out that she was no fun.

"—that doesn't even make sense, how the hell could you even get a Griever drunk?"

"Hypothetical situation, man."

"Fine, _hypothetically_ , how in the world could Alby actually beat a Griever in hand-to-hand combat? Grievers don't even have hands!"

"You don't know that for sure, they could have hands."

"This is stupid."

" _You're_ stupid."

Just as Seth was about to fling the last dredges of his soup at Adam, the subject of their argument, who Liz hadn't even seen in the crowd of boys that afternoon, approached them from behind. Alby leveled them all with a heavy glare, his presence making the entire table fall silent. Liz was flooded with the sudden feeling that she nothing more than a little girl who had done something wrong.

"When you're done with your little lunch break, it might be a good idea to actually get back to work. We've got things to do today and all I see is a bunch of lazy slintheads sitting on their asses." He locked eyes with Liz across the table, like he knew the unusual break in the day was all her fault. It made her want to sink into the earth and hide. Or at least raise up her soup bowl in front of her face so he couldn't look at her with that piercing stare for too long.

But she resisted and Alby continued his stare for a long moment, eyes roaming until they landed on her hand which was clenched in a fist on the table. Then he looked to Newt sharply, "You gonna do something about the fact that she's in a shucking lot of pain right now, shank?"

Liz felt her eyes go wide. "How did you—"

"It's easy enough to tell," Alby said as if that were obvious. But from the confused look on Newt's face, she didn't think it was as obvious as he made it out to be. Glancing around the table, Alby barked, "Alright, play time is over. Back to work, everyone."

"Bye…" she trailed off as the second-in-command left without saying another word.

And so her odd day continued.

The boys grumbled and groaned but did as their second-in-command ordered and gathered their bowls, returning them to the kitchens before making their way back to their jobs. Liz and Newt stayed sitting in silence until everyone had left, and then the blond turned to her.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

 _Because I didn't even realize it_ she wanted to say but only shrugged.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit—"

Pumping his arms, feet pounding hard on the earth below until he was practically flying through the Maze, Minho willed his body to simply move _faster_. Adrenaline surged through his veins, fear nipped at his heels, pushing him over the edge. There was no time to think about what had just happened, no time to go into shock, no time to think about what he had left behind, no time to register the blood flowing down his chest, soaking his shirt, no time to wonder how much of it was his. It was either run or die.

Minho had chosen to run.

The fact that his footsteps were the only ones he could hear as he weaved through the Maze, skidding around corners, and tearing down different corridors registered in his mind, but it didn't slow him down. There were no Grievers chasing him, only his own cowardice.

He was ashamed at having left his friend behind, even if he had been dead. It ate at him and something moved in his chest, gathering in a hot, filling lump in his throat and Minho realized, distantly, that the liquid streaking down his face wasn't just sweat.

He kept running. Even as he burst out of the Maze and into the Glade, scaring the klunk out of the baggers guarding the doors, he kept running until he reached the middle of the Glade and then he all but collapsed.

With adrenaline and fear and shame still flowing through his veins, he blacked out.

* * *

Newt had sent her back to the clinic for the rest of the afternoon and Clint had somehow magically found a whole new container of bandages that had yet to be rolled. Groaning, Liz went to work, encouraged by the fact that there would only be a few more hours left before this peculiar day was finished and she could put it behind her.

She hummed to herself as she worked. It was an old song, something that she only seemed to remember some of the words to, but the melody was slow and lilting and had to be sung from the heart. She tried to fill in some of the gaps with some of her own words and in the end it seemed to flow pretty well. Soon enough, she was so lost in the repetitive motions of rolling the cloth bandages and sticking them back in their container that she hardly noticed all of the shouting outside.

But when the shouting grew louder and more panicked, she stopped her soft singing, hands pausing in mid-air.

The feeling returned, the deep knowing that something was terribly wrong and it made bile rise in her stomach.

And then the clinic door flew open, slamming with a shattering kind of force into the wall and bouncing back so fast it almost hit Nick's back as he entered the clinic bellowing for a Med-Jack. Alby caught the door and stopped it from doing any real damage as he helped Nick carry a barely conscious and very bloody looking Minho into the small room.

Newt followed them closely, the blond shouting, " _Clint!_ "

Liz was frozen, eyes perfect circles as she sat in her chair in the corner of the room, completely unnoticed by the rest of them. Clint came running from the back room, steps faltering for one brief moment as he took in the scene before he snapped back into action. "Get him on the table."

Nick and Alby moved quickly towards the table, the same one Liz had been examined on, and she thought, for a brief, ridiculous second, that they should take off the white sheet or it wouldn't be so perfectly spotless for very long.

"Frankie…" Minho moaned as they carefully set him on the table. His eyes opened, barely-there slits, rolling back and forth. His entire body was absolutely drenched with sweat and blood.

Clint none too gently shoved the other boys out of his way as he grabbed a sharp knife and began cutting away Minho's shirt. There was so much blood, it covered the Runner's clothes, was splattered on his arms and neck and face and hair. Beneath Minho's shirt, there was a long gash running across his chest down his abdomen. It was gushing blood, but not enough to account for the amount he was covered in.

The Med-Jack stared at the wound for a moment and then asked quietly, "This isn't all his blood, is it?"

"I don't think so," Newt said grimly.

Liz swallowed hard, breathing an almost inaudible, "Oh my god."

Nick looked like he had eaten something rotten as his head dropped, eyes squeezing shut. Alby stood there silently, arms crossed, expression deadly.

"Should we send out a search?" Newt asked quietly, glancing at the two other leaders.

"Look at him," Alby said, voice hard. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened."

Liz watched as Alby leveled a glare so fierce at Nick that she wondered how he withstood it. But Nick not only stood his ground, he raised his head and met that glower. Not with one of his own, but with a look of profound sadness.

"No." Nick voiced softly, and then louder—"No. Frankie's dead. Minho was mumbling that back in the Glade before he blacked out."

Newt rocked back on his heels at the words and slowly closed his eyes. "What do we do?"

"I fucking warned you," Alby hissed in a low voice, eyes of fire burning across the room into Nick and Liz felt afraid, truly afraid, of the other boy for the first time. But Nick was prepared for this, or maybe he was used to this, because he clearly wasn't afraid when he responded, voice a low growl.

"Yeah, you did. Now shut up about it and think—"

Whatever Nick was going to say was cut off when Minho awoke with a start. He didn't slowly float into consciousness, his mind must have thought he was still running for his life because he flew up from the table, shoving Clint three feet back as he sat up. The bowl of water that Clint had been using to clean Minho's wound crashed to the floor and Minho lunged to get off the table.

"Shit! Grab him!"

The boys rushed in, holding Minho down as he struggled, mind still in the Maze. He fought them, making his veins pop out in his neck and more blood flow out of his wound. Liz started and then realized that she had no idea what to do as she sat there, helpless. Not that she could have made much of a difference even if she wasn't injured. Minho was _strong_ , every muscle outlined in his upper body and even with the gash across his chest, it took all three leaders to contain him. It wasn't until Nick slapped him that the Keeper of the Runners stopped, momentarily shocked by the action.

Nick took the opportunity and grabbed Minho's face then, forcibly turning it to face him. "Hey, Minho, calm down. You're safe, you're back in the Glade. It's okay," Nick spoke firmly and Liz wondered if she had looked as crazy when she had her freak out as Minho did now.

The Runner's eyes were flickering about the room, taking them all in one by one. And then, for whatever reason, his eyes landed on her, in the far corner, and something flickered in his eyes, like a shutter opening for a brief moment, recognition, before slamming closed. It was then that he registered the pain and his face contorted as he fell back on the table with a groan and a long string of curses that had Liz's eyes even wider, if that were possible.

"There he is," Nick said more to himself.

Alby moved forward, pushing through the others, eyes boring into the Runner. "What happened?"

Minho tried to speak and it came in short bursts and pained grimaces. "Found the nest and—fuck—I don't know. Frankie was talking… and then he's choking and shaking… like he's having a seizure. Next thing I know. He's dead. Couldn't do a thing. And then a Griever. Scared the klunk out of me—so fast and it was going to kill me. I couldn't move because of Frankie and—"

The Runner lost his voice in a groan and Clint, calm and collected Clint, lost his patience. He turned to the others, giving no room for an argument. "Alright, everyone out," Alby and Nick balked but Clint's voice was firm. " _Everyone get the hell out_. I appreciate your need to get information, but this is going to have to wait. I've got to stitch this up before he bleeds out anymore. He's worked up enough as it is, and you all are only making it worse. Maybe it'll be better if you just come back and talk to him later. He will be more lucid and ready to answer your questions."

Alby opened his mouth for a second and then shut it with a click, practically vibrating with anger. Newt was the first to leave, eyes hardened, not even noticing Liz and she didn't mind at all at the moment. Nick said a few quiet words to Clint that had the Med-Jack nodding in agreement and then he drifted out as well.

It was Alby who finally realized that she was there and Liz wished with everything in her that he wouldn't have.

He stared for a long moment and then closed in on her in three quick, angry steps, muscles tightly bound and voice even tighter, "You don't breathe a word of this to anyone, got me?"

She stared up at him, feeling very much like a small child. "Yeah, okay."

"Good."

And then Alby was gone and the once insane clinic was oddly still. Clint, ever efficient, was the only person still functioning. He took his time making sure that Minho's wound was as clean as it was possibly going to get, something the Runner looked like he wanted to punch him for. Then Clint swiftly moved to another shelf, finding a needle and thread for stitching. Liz grimaced at the sight. The blood didn't bother her, her stomach was pretty strong when it came to injuries and she was pretty sure she could stitch someone up if she needed to, it was the idea of putting someone in that much pain that bothered her—always.

It didn't help that Minho was now wide awake, concentrating on the ceiling, as Clint began to sow his skin together in short, neat tugs and pulls. He didn't make a noise throughout the entire stitching, only his hand clenched so tightly in a fist that his tendons stood out white against his knuckles gave away how much pain he was in. Liz had been still for so long, silently watching the process that she completely forgot about the bandage in her hand. Looking down, she slowly began to roll it again, for lack of nothing better to do, when Clint called her name.

"Liz, could you come and help me for a second?"

Her head snapped up, mouth open. _No, not really_ , she thought, but said nothing and stood slowly, her own injury spiking a raw jolt of pain through her.

Walking over, she felt Minho's eyes latch onto her, boring into her. She tried not to meet them right away, but they were like magnets and she couldn't stop herself from staring back. His gaze was laced with pain and something else, something that burned into her skin making her face heat up. She bit her bottom lip and his eyes flickered down at the motion and then shot back up to her eyes with an unreadable look.

"Hold this," Clint instructed when she was close enough to see the neat stitching job the Med-Jack had done. The laceration went diagonally across Minho's chest and top half of his stomach and looked red and puckered and extremely painful, but Clint was good at what he did. Clint handed her a bandage as he opened up a canister with a sharp smelling salve inside, he scooped out a handful and smothered his wound with it before nodding to her.

Not needing any further instruction, she leaned over Minho, carefully not meeting his eyes though they followed her every move, and placed the cloth bandage over his wound. Her fingers were feather light as they ghosted over the stitches, the salve making the cloth adhesive to the wound nicely. Her fingers stopped at the top of his abdomen, but her eyes naturally continued down trailing the ridges and outlines of his muscles of his stomach before she blanched, wondering what she was doing. Her eyes flashed up to his, hoping he hadn't noticed, but by the slightly smug look (as smug as he could get while in this much pain), Minho had caught her.

Blushing, Liz stepped back as Clint returned with medical tape. He quickly lined the edges of the bandage in tape and then dipped his hands in a nearby bowl of water and washed them. Glancing over his shoulder, Clint's eyes met hers. "Can you stay with him? He's going to need to rest before he gets put through the inquisition and I need to go speak with Nick. Keep everyone out, I don't care who it is, my clinic, my rules."

"Sure," Liz said quietly, purposefully not looking at the boy lying on the table.

"Minho, you need to sleep. Don't give me that look. Stay here, rest. You can deal with everything later. Liz'll take good care of you." Her eyes widened comically at that and she opened her mouth to object but Clint was already gone, leaving the two of them in an awkward sort of silence.

Slowly, Liz turned to look at Minho, but his eyes had already slid closed, clearly more exhausted than he had previously wanted to admit. Twisting her hands, not entirely sure what to do, Liz carefully made her way back to her chair and her bandages and continued her never-ending job.

* * *

Clint took longer than she had expected and dusk was quickly falling.

She still sat vigil in the clinic, quietly working as Minho slept, listening to his soft breaths. She didn't really know how she got herself into this situation, and she certainly didn't know what to make of the boy sleeping on the examination table. Her eyes drifted across the room to his muscular form, watching his chest rise and fall. It was the first time she had really been near him outside of their nightly meetings by the wall and she felt shy, like she didn't know how to interact with this side of him. Though he didn't seem very different, still cocksure of himself, even as he lay battered and bloodied and in a pain-induced sleep, it _felt_ different.

Liz had always thought it was the walls that drew her at night, but, as she sat there staring at him, a very small part of her wondered if it was also Minho. This boy who spoke what no one else would, who didn't care what anyone else thought. This boy who hated this place as much as she did, called her a chicken one second and then told her he didn't want her to die the next.

He was utterly confusing.

He was also staring at her from across the room.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Liz dropped the bandage she had been holding and it unraveled as it rolled across the floor. He was awake—and not just awake, but awake and staring at her with dark and strange and unreadable eyes. For whatever reason, she couldn't stop herself from staring back.

Finally, he broke the silence. "What were you singing?"

Confused, Liz's brows furrowed, "I was singing?"

"Yeah," Minho nodded, his voice scratchy from sleep. "You were. I've never heard a song like that before."

"Oh," Liz put down the bandages. She must have started humming again without realizing it. She shrugged, "I don't really know. But I think I used to know it… before."

"Before," Minho repeated. "Do you remember anything else from before?" The question was innocent enough, but something in Liz, something very much like self-preservation, flinched at it and she had to stop herself from snapping back at him. Not trusting her mouth at the moment, she silently shook her head. Minho sighed, "me neither."

They were quiet for a long while before the Runner shifted and then stopped, hissing in pain. Liz ignored her own wince as she stood and moved over to him, worry clear on her face. "Are you okay? Should I go find Clint?"

Minho's hand shot out, warm and rough and strong, grabbing her wrist, "No. Don't. If you go get Clint then shucking Nick and Alby and everyone else will come."

"Okay," she nodded and didn't bother to pull herself out of his grip, though it would have been easy to do. "What can I do?"

His thumb swept over the inside of her wrist and something fluttered in Liz's stomach. "Just stay."

So she did just that.

She stared down at the white bandage across his chest and stomach, unable to look away, unable to even blink, wondering what in the world could have happened to him today. Minho must have caught on to her train of thought though because he grinned and there was no humor in it.

"Bad day."

Liz's eyes flashed to his and she opened her mouth to speak and then stopped and tried again, voice hesitant. "What… happened out there?"

"A friend died."

He said it so casually, almost too casually, but Liz didn't know him well enough to call him out on it.

"Frankie," she clarified, remembering the name he was muttering. Minho's breath caught in his chest.

"Yeah. He just… seized and died. I don't know what happened but there was no reason for it. One second he was alive, the next he just dropped dead. And then the Griever came and I shucking used his body as a shield," his voice shook with some unnamable emotion and his eyes flashed to hers, searching. "I let him get torn apart so it wouldn't be me."

It hit her then, like a wave, and the power of it nearly knocked her back a foot. The reality of this place, of what he just said. He watched his friend get torn to pieces, just a kid, they were all just kids. What the hell was this place?

Her other hand was not exactly shaking as she reached over, touching the bandage lightly. "Looks like the Griever still got a piece of you."

He fell silent.

Slowly, he let go of her other wrist, his arm returning to his side and Liz's skin shivered in a sudden coldness. Minho watched her, never taking his eyes away from hers, holding her captive in his gaze. Then his eyes crinkled, his mouth twisting into a grim sort of smile.

"Still want to be a Runner?"

Liz searched his face, thought back to the time she once asked him about it, how naïve she had been, how naïve she still felt. She thought back to the time she heard the Griever, when she realized just how often Minho was running into danger while the rest of them ran the other direction. She remembered the realization of how much courage flowed through his veins and how cowardly she had felt in comparison. No. She shook her head, her voice very quiet. "No. I don't think I could ever be that brave."

Her eyes slowly rose and met his.

"I never said you weren't brave." His voice was soft, a ghost of a whisper, sliding over her skin like electrified velvet. She couldn't think of a response and so she tore he eyes away, looking to the ground once more.

"Why do you do it?" She asked after a few moments, and he slowly curved his lips, eyes not leaving hers. "Why do you go into that Maze every day? Why are you able to do what no one else here can?"

He was quiet for a long time and something shadowed his eyes, making them even darker. "My life was forfeit the moment I came up in that Box. If I'm going to die, I'd rather do it on my terms."

"That's a pretty shitty way to live."

The words were out of her mouth before she could catch them and swallow them back down. Minho's eyes flashed to hers, his voice carefully controlled. "What do you mean?"

"Who says you're going to die?"

"Who says I won't?" He shot back hotly, sitting up a little despite the obvious pain it caused him.

"Look," Liz began, "if you go into that place waiting for the day you're going to die, then you'll never find the way out of here."

"And what," he said dangerously soft, "would you know about finding the way out of here?"

Liz fell silent for a long moment as his eyes searched hers unrelentingly. "Nothing, I guess."

"Sure about that? You've seem pretty convinced since you got here."

She was treading on dangerous ground, she knew it, every step, every word a possible bomb waiting to blow her away. "Just because I think there's a way out doesn't mean that I know the way. Maybe _you're_ supposed to be the one who finds it."

"Don't you think I've tried? What do you think I've been doing all this shucking time? Huh? Just playing games?"

Liz sighed heavily, "I never said that—shit. You're moving around too much. Look," she pointed to his bandage where the tape had come off.

Minho glared down at the tape and then laid back on the table. Liz moved over to the shelves, grateful for a moment away from his piercing gaze and biting words. She took her time, pretending not to know where the tape was, gathering her thoughts and slowing her breaths. When she turned around, Minho was back to staring at the ceiling. Silently she walked over and peeled off some tape, cutting it with the scissors. The irony of the injured caring for the injured didn't pass her notice, but she shoved the thought aside. Her eyes flickered to his face when she leaned over, but his gaze was still locked on the ceiling. Her fingers were cold against his overly warm skin as she brushed lightly over his chest, lining the tape up and following it down the bandage to his stomach. His muscles contracted slightly at the touch and Liz tried her hardest not to stare too much, but if she was being honest, she did look. At least a little.

When she was finished, she found his eyes on her once more. Smiling gently, she drew in a breath, choosing her words carefully, "All I meant to say earlier was… don't give up, Minho. Whatever you do, don't give up. Your life is worth so much more than your death. Remember that."

She turned quietly and left the clinic after that, not giving him a chance to respond and not seeing the look in his eyes as she fled.

* * *

 **AN** – _TA-DA!_ Lookie there, I didn't even make you guys wait that long. I'm so nice.

Thank you beautiful people reading this story! It's pretty fun to share in the adventure with you. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, if you like the Minho/Liz long awaited interaction!

Later Glader,

\- RevolutionNow


	7. The Dead

**Disclaimer** – I disclaim!

 **Intrepid**

* * *

 **Chapter Six – The Dead**

Nick and Alby had been more patient than Minho had expected, but that still didn't mean he wanted to talk by the time they came around.

There had been a full hour of peace and silence after Liz had scampered out of the clinic, her tail tucked between her legs. Something about that bothered him more than it should have. From what he had seen of her, she wasn't the type to be intimidated or easily frightened and she definitely didn't back down from confrontation. Nick had told him all about how she had stood toe to toe with Alby on her first day, which was no easy thing to do… and also probably not the smartest. Alby wasn't the kind to forgive easily and he _never_ forgot.

Still, Minho thought she was brave, spectacularly stupid sometimes, but brave. Sure, there was the massive panic attack she had, but when she came up out of that Box standing tall and staring at them all without shaking like a leaf, Minho knew one thing for certain: she hadn't been afraid.

At least not like the rest of them.

By that alone, she had unknowingly earned a sliver of Minho's respect. The rest, well, he'd have to see.

So when she started looking at him the way she did in the clinic, and then saying that klunk about how his life mattered, how he was important, spitting out the kind of thing you only say to a person if you really know what you're talking about, and then running away like a scared bunny—he didn't buy it. Not one bit.

He also didn't buy her claim that she knew nothing about getting out of here. Maybe she didn't remember right now, but something deep inside of Minho told him that she _knew_. And now… with what he found in the Maze, Minho was planning on having a nice, long chat with her and she wouldn't be running away this time.

He wouldn't let her.

"So, he just… dropped dead?" Nick asked and the Runner jolted out of his thoughts. Nick was leaning against the clinic door, arms folded, his green eyes bright and red and lined with shadows. His face was very pale.

Minho just looked at him for a second before clearing his throat. "Yeah, there was no warning."

"What happened next?"

Alby pulled a chair up next to the table that Minho was still lying on and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, face grim. Flashes of blood—red, dark, rich—flickered in Minho's mind before he shoved them away, not quite ready to face that. He took the extra time to make sure his voice was steady.

"I was holding him, kneeling on the ground, shaking him, trying to wake him up I guess, and then the Griever came. I didn't even hear it, maybe I was distracted, but I had no idea it was there. It moved so fast and I just reacted. It was going to—" Minho stopped and breathed and started again, voice low, "I used Frankie's body as a shield. It was either me or him and he was already gone—he was already _dead_. If I hadn't of used him, it would have been my blood watering the Maze right now."

His gaze turned to the ceiling, not able to look at the two other boys as they registered what he said. He didn't want to see the looks of disgust, he felt enough of that for himself.

"Minho, we don't blame you," Nick's voice cut in but Minho just frowned and continued staring at the ceiling, eyes narrowing. "You did what you had to do to survive."

Eyes flashing to Nick's, he pinned the leader to the wall, a fierceness in his voice that had never been there before. "That isn't enough. _Surviving_ isn't enough."

"For now it is."

"And what about when it isn't?"

Nick went very still, his hands clasped behind his back and Minho watched him lean back and press them hard into the wall. He said nothing.

"Minho," Alby spoke suddenly, "you said it was a nest."

"Yes."

"Are you positive?"

The Runner shrugged. "I don't know. I can't be one hundred percent positive. But it looked like afterbirth or something and when I got close enough… it moved. It was the same stuff I've seen left behind by a Griever when they've been in the area, same smell, but _more_. Everything was more. Neither Fra… neither Frankie or I could tell for sure. But that's my best guess."

Alby turned then to Nick and the two shared a long look, the kind of look that said more than their words ever would. It went on long enough that Minho glanced between the two of them, trying to catch on. Finally, Nick cleared his throat, eyebrows knitting together.

"I've had a theory. The Grievers… what do we know about them?"

"Aside from the fact that they kill you on sight?" Minho dead-panned.

Nick did not look impressed.

" _Think_ , shank."

The Runner returned his gaze to the ceiling, brows furrowed. The tentacles of a migraine began to latch onto the spot just under his left eye and his chest felt like it was close to tearing with every breath he took. He was partially looking forward to how much pain he would be in later—pain was a good distraction from everything else. Blinking slowly, he spoke carefully, "They're part machine. They make a mechanical sound when they move, but they're not just a machine, they're more than that. They're animal, a creature of some kind but they also aren't fully an animal. I thought before that they really only came out and were active at night, but maybe we were wrong."

"You said as soon as you found the nest and realized what it was that Frankie dropped dead for no reason, right?" Nick pushed himself off the wall with his shoulder and Minho nodded. "I think the Grievers are the key to something really big here. Every time we've gotten close to figuring something out about them, someone dies. It's like they want to scare us off," Minho didn't have to ask who _they_ were. Everyone knew. "That's where my theory comes in. I think the Grievers have been genetically engineered to be part animal and machine—but something is changing, natural evolution maybe. Survival of the fittest, the strongest. What if the Grievers are becoming more animal than machine because the animal DNA is overpowering the mechanical make up? Meaning… what if they were losing control over them?"

"Then I'd say we're screwed."

"I'd say we're getting closer."

Minho stared incredulously at the other boy, a flare of white hot anger shot through his veins and he rose his head off the table slightly, ignoring the pain lacing through him. "Closer? Closer as in more people are dying? You're excited about that?"

Nick flinched and Alby's head turn slightly towards the other leader, eyes piercing. Nick held up one hand, his voice softening. "No, I mean closer as in things are changing. With the new Greenie—"

"Liz." Minho corrected.

There was a long, awkward moment. Nick nodded, slowly, giving Minho a funny look. "… Liz. With her coming up and now the nest, I think something is happening and I want to find out."

"But who says it's something good?" Alby spoke up for the first time and both boys turned to him. He waited, pausing to make sure he had their full attention. "Who says this change is good? Things have been working here and now, with all of this, we have real casualties of real people to consider. That isn't something to be taken lightly."

"No one is taking it lightly, Alby," Nick said in a voice like he had had this argument many times before. But the other boy rose swiftly from his chair, the wooden legs scraping loudly on the floor as he stood.

"How many more Gladers are going to have to die before you start believing that?"

Nick looked at Alby, hurt and something akin to betrayal flashing across his face, before he turned and left the clinic without a word. The door slammed shut behind him and Alby and Minho were left in silence.

"Shit," Alby muttered and turned to Minho. There was something much harder, harsher than the rest of them had, etched in the details of his face. "Is there anything else you can think of, Minho? Any other detail?" The Runner's mind immediately went to one glaring issue, but he kept his mouth shut and shook his head. Alby stared at him for a moment longer, eyes searching his for the truth, before nodding. "Okay, get some rest. You're not running for a while."

Alby got up then and left, not waiting for Minho to respond. The Runner watched him leave, wondering if he had been right to not tell him about what he saw in the Maze. But Minho had always been the type to go straight to the source, and he would rather ask _her_ himself about what he saw on the walls.

* * *

Burying someone was never easy. Burying someone without having a body to put in the ground was worse. Worse because even though it was real, it didn't feel like it. There was no closure, no proof, and everyone was left wondering the how and the why.

The entire Glade had gathered, one silent, solemn assembly of hurting and confused people. Liz was among them and it was one of the first times that she had ever seen everyone together in the same spot. She wondered if death, in its strange way, somehow brought people together.

Wondering these things, she felt an odd calm wash over her, she wasn't relaxed, but the calmness was so heavy that it was nearly the same thing. She felt like she was there, seeing everything, hearing everything, feeling everything, but that she was also somewhere else at the same time. The fear that had been in her since that first day, since she got her first glimpse of the massive stone walls locking her in and the loneliness that ate at her and the loss of not just her memories but _who_ she was, still wrapped around her and she was fairly certain that it always would, but she was calm, too, underneath all of that.

Nick stood before all of them, Alby at his side and Newt just beyond. The three of them held torches alight with a fire that cast them all in a soft glow so different from the harshness of the situation. In one hand, Nick held a chisel and hammer. After a moment of silence, he turned and handed his torch to a nearby Glader and then moved to the wall of names that Liz knew so well. His every movement was stiff and controlled and Liz knew, somewhere deep down, that Nick was not the kind of leader that would bend, no matter how much the wind blew, but looking at him tonight, she thought he might break.

His hands were steady as they lined up with Frankie's name. She had already known where the boy's name was, had run her fingers over it multiple times—over every one of their names. Everyone held their breath, watching, waiting, and then he began the slow, painful process of carving a line through Frankie's name.

With every hammer, every sound of the chisel in stone, the finality of the situation hit her and it hit her _hard_.

Her gaze swept over the gathered boys and she saw some familiar faces. Adam, who she always had to remind herself was so much younger than he believed, seemed to have aged even more now, harder. His face was like ice, cold and striking and mean and so much of what he shouldn't be but so much of what this place had made him.

 _It shouldn't be like this_ , Liz thought fiercely.

They were children, every last one of them, but only by age now. Whatever childishness they had had at one point had been quickly snuffed out. It was cruel. Frankie deserved better than the death he received. He deserved better than having his memory be a name slashed out of a wall. It could be any of them next. It could be Newt or Myles or Frypan.

It could be her.

This was the first death she experienced since coming to the Glade and something told her that it would not be the last and it would not be the most difficult.

She nearly staggered under the weight of the realization but caught herself before she could fall to her knees. A traitorous lump steadily grew in her throat, molten liquid threatening to overflow making it difficult to get any air to her lungs. She squeezed her hand into a fist, her nails digging into the meaty part of her palm leaving sharp indentions, and she focused on swallowing back down the lump and simply breathing. A part of her was embarrassed, hoping that no one was noticing the meltdown she was having, she hardly even knew the boy. There was a sharp pang of relief when she saw that no one was paying attention to her.

No one but the one she wished wouldn't.

Of course _he_ would notice.

His eyes were honed in on her, his head the only one not turned to the wall. She tried to stare straight ahead, tried to ignore his look, but she couldn't for very long. She had run from Minho the other night and she reminded herself now that this was one of his friends, he didn't deserve her cowardice.

Swallowing, she met his gaze and when she did, something froze over deep in her bones. It was like Minho was seeing straight through her, and, for whatever reason, that was terrifying.

He didn't look away, not when Nick finished carving through Frankie's name, not when the different Gladers gradually began to drop back to the Homestead one by one, not even when it was just the two of them standing there, staring at one another.

Liz wanted to drop her eyes, wanted to look to the ground, but something told her that he was testing her—testing her resolve. How much could she bear? How much could she stand and still continue standing? Whatever happened, Liz knew, right then, with frightening clarity, that she did not want to see that mocking look come into his eyes. She didn't want to give him a reason to laugh at her. Jaw clenching, teeth grinding together, she sniffed once, quick and decisive, and turned her body slightly, but it was enough to meet him full on.

Minho's mouth curved, not quite a smile and not quite a smirk, as he kept his gaze fixed on her and Liz got the oddest feeling that he'd watch her forever if she'd let him.

And that brought back the fire. A match struck inside of her chest, its flames licking their way down her fingertips until everything was burning. Minho stepped forward.

 _Careful._ Something whispered to her.

Minho stopped a few feet in front of her, the air thickening quickly between them until she felt like she had to raise her hand to brush it away.

"How much do you think his life was worth?"

The question caught her so off guard that her mouth fell open and she looked up at him, eyes going wide. He looked back at her, his brows knit over his dark, dark eyes. For a few seconds they just looked at each other and then Liz regained control of herself and closed her mouth, eyes flitting to the wall of names and the freshly slashed out Frankie.

He spoke again, his voice sounding careless and his eyes anything but. "You said last night that my life is worth more than my death."

"I did," she admitted quietly. "Every life is important," she swallowed hard, "no matter how short."

There was quiet for a few seconds and he just looked at her. She saw the war in them, raging, ever raging; the battle for hope, life, truth.

"Then why don't the people who put us in here believe that?"

She opened her mouth, her heart pounding and she knew it was about to jump out of her mouth onto the ground in-between them, bursting and covering them both in blood and fire and all that she was and she couldn't stop it. "I don't know what they believe. I don't know why they put us in this place, why they stole our memories, why they take and take and take and _take_ ," Liz's teeth were bared, her voice and body shaking. "But maybe… maybe that's why we're here. Maybe we are supposed to change everything, to prove them _wrong_. Maybe it's _us_ that need to show them that people are important, that life is precious and not…" she spread her arms around to the Glade, "this. Maybe when we figure that out, that's when we become free."

"You think if we do that, the way out will magically appear?" Minho's voice was dripping with disbelief and Liz shook her head, something that had been crawling under her skin finally settling into place, molding into her very being.

"No. I'm talking about a different kind of freedom."

"What other kind of freedom is there?"

She licked her lips and stared hard at the boy who was gradually taking steps closer to her. When he was near enough that she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes, her voice went soft. "The truest kind. Freedom of your soul."

"You talk like a poet." Minho was close enough that she could almost feel the rumble in his chest as his voice deepened. A small, sad smile graced her lips. She wondered what it would have been like to meet this boy somewhere else, what _he_ would have been like.

His jaw ticked twice, his eyes dropping to her lips and Liz felt something in her start to panic as the moment went on too long. She dropped her head, biting her bottom lip, knowing, and so thankful, that he couldn't see the expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, slowly moving back a step, putting space between them. When she looked up, Minho's face was unreadable. "For your friend."

It was amazing, really, how quickly the shutter fell behind his eyes leaving his face completely expressionless.

"He was fifteen," Minho said and turned to the wall, walking towards it. She could tell he was in a lot of pain by his overly careful movements, and she thought again, of the irony of both of them being so wounded—perhaps in more way than one. He scuffed his shoe against the wall, holding back a grimace. "Stupid shank."

Liz was quiet and Minho turned and slowly slid down to the ground, pain etching in every crevice of his face until he sighed, fully seated on the ground, stretching his legs out before him. She shifted from foot to foot, not really sure what to do. "Are… are you going to be okay?" Minho raised his eyes and said nothing. "Do you want me to stay?"

There was a long stretch of time where she was certain she didn't breathe at all and then he slowly nodded. She walked over, making sure to put a good two feet between them before she carefully sank to the ground, back against the cold stone. They didn't say another word and she pulled her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees letting the discomfort in her ribs flow through her. She needed the aching, it helped to keep her anchored and here when it would be so much easier to float away. Her eyes eventually went to the stars, bright blueness reflecting their flickering light.

"I saw something in the Maze."

She didn't look at him, didn't respond, and he continued, his voice carrying an emotion she couldn't quite name.

"Something that I think has to do with you."

At that, Liz turned her head. "What do you mean?"

"On one of the walls, deep in the Maze, something was trying to send a message. I think it might have been a Griever."

"What did it say?" She asked, her voice breathless, fingers clenching around her legs, hugging them tighter into herself.

Minho waited, eyes staring off blankly into the distance. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. "It said, 'Her'."

The crickets chirped loudly in the grass around them and Liz couldn't move. If her mind had been spinning before, it was nothing compared to the hurricane that was set lose in her thoughts at that one, simple word. _Her_. She didn't know what it mean exactly and she tried to force down the unfounded fear that reared its ugly head right in the center of who she was, but she couldn't, not entirely; because she knew, in her gut, that this was about her and that she was supposed to do _something_ ; something bigger than this Glade, something bigger than herself.

 _But what?_

It all came back to the Maze and the boy next to her. She knew he was important, they all were, but he was, specifically. She _knew_ that.

She just didn't know _why_.

"Any idea as to why a Griever has been carving that out all over the Maze?" It was a question, but it wasn't, too; the way Minho said it made it feel more like a challenge and her mind flashed to the look he had given her earlier—the test.

For what seemed to be a very long time, she just looked at him, shock and confusion and anger bubbling up in her stomach as a sick realization settled on her shoulders.

"You think I had something to do with all of this?" She asked, a tiny tremor of something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite sadness but a mixture of the two shaking her voice.

Minho turned to her then and the two feet between them seemed suddenly much closer. "Did you?"

"How _dare_ you ask that," she spit out, her voice truly shaking now. "How dare you."

"Maybe you should answer."

"No," her voice was an edict. "I didn't." And then the dam was broken inside of her and she felt tears well up in her eyes and she hated that she looked and felt so weak. "How could I? I don't know anything, I don't _remember_ anything!"

"You have to know something," he countered, "I saw it on your face just now, you know something."

"I don't remember," Liz pronounced every word slowly and with finality. Her anger made her stupid and reckless and all other thoughts fled her mind, the unjustness of her situation waving a big, red flag. Bitterness was like a bile that she couldn't stop coming out of her throat. "Maybe you should go back and ask your Griever friend. I'm sure they'd love to explain the situation. In fact, maybe he'll finish you off just like—"

"Don't." Minho bit out, his voice deadly in its softness and for some reason it made Liz pause. His fists were clenched and he was trembling all over, and Liz remembered, instantly, that she was the only girl in a Glade full of boys she did not know—boys who could be very dangerous, boys who didn't have many rules, boys who, somewhere deep down in her heart, she was afraid of.

As quickly as she could with her ribs throbbing, Liz stood and strode away from the wall, away from Minho.

It was the second time in two days that she had run from him.

This time, she thought he might have deserved it.

* * *

He sat very still for a long time after Liz had left, fuming and then, later, thinking. Things hadn't quite gone as he had planned. She had a biting tongue, but then, so did he; both getting them in trouble when they were in pain. Tonight being a fine example. One thing he realized very quickly though was this: the girl wore her heart on her sleeve and even if that heart was quick to boil in fury, it was also passionate and naïve and truthful and something deep down in him believed it was good.

It made him afraid for her in this place. The Maze… the Maze had a way of wiping out all of those things from a person.

He should know.

Minho could ask her anything and he was fairly certain she would tell him, if not with her words than with her eyes. She wasn't lying when she said she didn't remember, he knew that now.

Leaning back against the wall, the wound on his chest making it too painful to get up and walk back to the Homestead, Minho felt something very much like resolve settle like a weight in his stomach. If she couldn't remember on her own, then he'd have to find a way to help her.

* * *

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry, and whoever said I did it is a liar."

Liz didn't bother to look up from the spot where she was shredding handful after handful of innocent grass. She had known who it was the moment the shadow had fallen over her, his tall, gangly form unmistakable. She ignored his comment and continued, albeit not happily, in her plant shredding.

Sitting outside of her tool shed, she technically had one more week of resting before she was going to be fully cleared by Clint to continue trying out at different jobs. It had been three days since Frankie's funeral, three days of her participating in Glade life, but minimally. Three days of taking her meals away from the kitchens and in or near her tool shed. She didn't go out by the walls, just in case a certain Runner happened to be there—like he usually was now that he was also out of commission. She figured she must have been giving off a very good "back away" vibe because so far the only Glader brave enough to come near her tool shed was Newt.

The bastard.

She wasn't entirely sure what it was about the whole situation that struck her straight in her core. Maybe being blamed for a death of a boy who she hardly met in a place she knew nothing about by one of the few people who she had been somewhat friendly to did it.

Yeah. That was probably it.

"Why the long face, Greenie?" Newt plopped down on the ground next to her and she continued ripping and shredding. "Have mercy on the poor grass, girl. It didn't do anything to you." Pausing, only her eyes moved, flickering over to Newt with a glare so fierce that he flinched a little. "You're not on the rag, are you?"

Newt sputtered when he got a handful of grass and dirt in his face.

"Fine, I get it. Sensitive subject. But I thought we were past you being the silent, isolated Greenie," Newt waited, looking at her expectantly and Liz said nothing. "No? That's okay then, I like to talk."

And talk he did. Newt went on and on about what he thought the Glade would be like if it were run by a bunch of moody girls instead of egotistical guys and how lucky that one guy would be if he were thrown into a place surrounded by girls, or how dead he would be by the end of the first month. He then discussed, in detail, his favorite food and why it was his favorite and how it came to be his favorite and what color he thought would make mashed potatoes more interesting and he wondered out loud why boys always seem more itchy than girls and if girls were perhaps just as itchy as boys but were somehow innately trained to not scratch as often. When he started in on how much he enjoyed days off because it meant he had hours to just sit and talk and do nothing and how he could do that all day every day, especially when he had as good of a listener as Liz, she snapped.

" _Go away_."

Newt was draped grandly on the ground, his body covered in pieces of grass as Liz had been slowly trying to bury him alive. He raised his head slightly and gave her a dopey grin, "Nope."

"Don't you have something to do?" She threw another handful of grass at him, almost getting some in his mouth.

"I already told you," he rolled his eyes, his voice that of one explaining something to a small child, "it's my day off and I fancy your company."

"Liar."

"Only about the important things," the blond winked at her and then came up on his elbows. "So, whose demise are you plotting and can I help?" Liz merely looked at him and bit down on her tongue. Newt made an 'oohing' kind of sound and sat up fully, showering his legs in grass.

"You can't help me."

"Why not?"

"I think that plotting murder falls under the category of intentional harming of another Glader." She said, very flatly.

Newt shrugged, a grin still playing about his lips, "exceptions can be made."

Just then, Minho walked by, treading too close to her territory than was comfortable, heading towards the wall, his own spot of isolation that he had been holing up near. He hid his physical pain much better than she ever could, but if she looked closely enough (which she did, even though she'd die before she admitted that), she could see it. It was in the subtlety, the hunch of his shoulders, the way he seemed to walk almost on his toes, the slight angle he held his plate of food.

The Runner turned and looked at her as he passed and Liz froze. She didn't return the stare but when he left, she resumed killing the grass with gusto. Newt, however, had lost his smile and had his chin in one hand.

"I see."

Liz glared at him. "No, you don't."

"You know, if he's upsetting you this much it's because he matters enough to affect you." Liz didn't say anything, but her hands stilled for a second and Newt pressed on, scooting closer to her so he could lower his voice. "Liz, a lot of times when people are hurting, they take it out on everyone around them because sometimes hurt people only know how to hurt other people. It's all they can do. Minho," Newt paused and though Liz hadn't turned to him, she was listening. "He's been through a lot and he's not exactly the best when it comes to social skills, but he is a good guy."

"And why would I believe you?"

Newt bumped her shoulder lightly but it still sent a sting through her middle. "Because I'm your friend."

Everything seemed to stop as the words registered in her mind. Something about that sentence seemed so true, so pure that it even hurt her a little to hear it. She knew, at some level, that she was and would always be alone in the Glade as the only girl. But there was another truth. She also had Newt.

 _And maybe a few others_ , she thought as the shouts of Frypan echoed distantly across the Glade.

"Thank you." The words felt lame coming out of her mouth, but she meant them with everything in her.

Newt, ever scarily observant, seemed to pick up on that and he bumped her shoulder again. But this time he made her hiss loudly and his eyes widened comically as he apologized profusely. When she didn't answer right away he offered himself up for eternal servitude and Liz was tempted to take him up on that and when the blond boy noticed the slight softening of her exterior, his apologies got even more ridiculous to the point that Liz started to laugh, albeit softly but truly, and then couldn't stop laughing.

When she finally calmed down, Newt was grinning happily, "you're alright, Greenie."

"I like you, too, Newt."

"Damn straight, all the ladies do."

"Which ladies are you referring to?" Liz asked flatly and Newt flapped his hand at her.

"Minor detail."

Liz laughed again and this time it rang through the Glade like a bell.

* * *

The next day, Liz was back in the clinic, this time she was mashing an herbal mixture into paste that was supposed to be a new form of pain relief that Clint had discovered. Part of her was more than slightly suspicious that he was recruiting her simply to do the jobs that he didn't want to do because the herbs stank to high heaven. But she continued smashing and grinding, adding small bits of water when the paste became too thick like Clint had showed her to do.

He had checked her ribs once again, the bruising was changing colors to an ugly vomit green with splotches and speckles of purple and blue, all of this was a good sign apparently. Liz wasn't so sure that anything so ugly could be good, but as long as Clint told her that she was in the final stretch of required rest and recovery, who was she to argue?

There was something nice about being in the clinic when no one else was around. It let her work in peace and quiet and she could sing that same song as loud as she wanted without worrying about anyone overhearing. She still didn't know all of the words, but what she did know stirred something deep within her.

Her mind began to wander as she went through the motions, drifting more and more to a certain Runner and his words and his stares and his fire. She couldn't shake it and her thoughts had been getting worse ever since her talk with Newt. She hadn't forgiven Minho, not in the least, and she didn't think she would be entirely kind to him if she saw him again soon, but she was understanding more and she was also sharply aware that her own words had been cruel that night as well.

It was a strange mixture of stubbornness and guilt that swirled in her. She might forgive him, if he apologized. But she wasn't going to apologize first, that she knew for a fact. She guessed he wasn't going to either, if the stories that Newt had told her about Minho over the last few days were all true.

Liz didn't really know where that left them and didn't have any more time to think on it as the door to the clinic opened making her pause in her mashing and look up in question. Her eyes widened slightly and her fingers tightened painfully on the large bowl of smooshed herbs in her lap as Minho walked halfway inside. He hesitated, taking her in, eyes sweeping from her feet all the way to her face slowly and she saw a slight hardening there.

"Where's Clint?"

Her voice came out softer than she expected. "On his way to the Bloodhouse, Seth cut himself open when a pig panicked… Do you need anything?"

"Fresh bandage." He said simply and Liz's eyes dropped to his chest and back to his face faster than he could blink.

"Oh," she said, feeling stupid for some odd reason. She shrugged, not sure why he was still there, staring at her, "I don't think he's going to be back for a while so…"

She trailed off and waited for him to get the hint. But Minho stepped fully inside the clinic and shut the door behind him. The click of the handle was so final and Liz's heart began to beat faster. He walked halfway towards her, then stopped, eyes glancing around the room before landing on her once more. "You do it."

Liz nearly choked on her own spit and she was positive that her heart actually skipped a beat. Minho, however, remained calm as ever, his eyes roaming over her face, like he was categorizing everything, and then he smirked. "Scared?"

"Hardly," she said, voice flat and completely unimpressed. She stood abruptly, placing the large bowl of half way smooshed herbs on the table next to her and brushed her hands off on her thighs. She walked to the shelves, knowing all too well where the bandages were by this point, and she grabbed one of the larger ones, the medical tape, and a pair of scissors, the whole time fully aware of Minho's eyes trailing her every move.

Gathering her supplies, Liz walked over to the examination table and dropped them unceremoniously. Pursing her lips, her face completely serious, she turned to Minho, raising one eyebrow. "Take off your shirt."

Her request had a satisfying sort of effect as she saw the minute widening of Minho's eyes and a clear flash of surprise. She kept her face carefully blank and crossed her arms over her chest despite the pain it caused.

Sensing a challenge, Minho tipped his head to the side a little and nodded more to himself than her. He locked eyes with her and then his fingers rose purposefully slowly and he began to unbutton his blue cotton shirt. Liz watched, her eyes staying on his as his fingers worked their way down one button at a time, the white bandage standing out vibrantly against his tanned skin. Her eyes flickered down before she could stop them, taking in the slope of his neck, the muscles flexing and moving in his chest and then the sweep of his abs looking cut out of stone. His movements were overtly slow and the rational part of Liz's mind knew it was because of his injury, but another, smaller part that burned brightly knew there was more to it—that this was a game and not one she could afford to lose.

She didn't bother looking away from his body even as the shirt slid from his shoulders, the sinewy tendons stretching along muscle, and Liz wondered what she had gotten herself into but she was in too deep to back out now.

Minho stood there, waiting, his shirt in a heap on the floor, and Liz fought like hell to keep her face from flushing when she met his eyes and nodded, "Get on the table."

He didn't smirk at her, didn't even look smug. It was something else in his dark eyes and that something else sent chills along her skin. Minho climbed on the table, his powerful legs dangling over the edge and he leaned back on his hands and he stared.

Swallowing and licking her lips, Liz had to step just barely between his legs to reach the bandage. Her left hand went to shoulder before she could pull back and think and she nearly flinched at the heat of his skin, but then used him to steady herself as her other hand went to the bandage and peeled off the tape. It came away with a little effort and Minho's face contorted just the slightest as it pulled at his skin and something about that made her grin and it wasn't entirely fair.

"Sorry, did that hurt?"

"No." He said, voice lower than she had ever heard it and Liz finished removing the rest of his old bandage quickly, his eyes never once leaving her face.

She grimaced a little, looking at the stitched wound that was only slightly less red and puckered than it had the first time she had seen it. It must be killing him and he hardly seemed to notice. Liz frowned, her fingers naturally reaching out and ghosting over the stitches as soft as a whisper.

"I'm going to get some more salve," she explained, straightening and moving to the shelves. "Clint was saying you need to watch for infection."

"That klunk stinks."

"Really? I think it improves your smell." She smirked as she came back over and opened the canister, taking a healthy handful and smearing the salve over the stitched up gash. She was not gentle, and though she was sure he could feel the pain, there was something else, too. It was a twisted sort of glee rising up in her belly when she saw the goosebumps spreading over his skin where she touched him.

His reaction emboldened her because as she finished covering the wound with the salve, her fingers trailed a little lower down the ridges of his stomach and the muscles contracted at her touch. His hand grabbed her wrist, snatching it away like lightning. She said nothing, but her eyes met his and his were darker than she had ever seen them.

"Tickles," he reasoned and she nodded, like that made sense.

Leaning over him, she grabbed the bandage and lined it up with the stitches, the salve making it stick nicely as her hand ran across his chest and lower. Keeping her hand pressed against him, right over his heart, she could feel it pounding; he was very solid and warm, she realized distantly.

"Hold this in place," she said softly and Minho eyes stayed on hers, searching her face, as his hand slowly rose and covered her own.

Her breath hitched, stuck somewhere between her heart and her throat, and Liz stared at him for the longest time.

 _Shit._

She was supposed to be angry with him, was supposed to not be speaking to him; how the hell did it end up like this?

Her lips parted and his eyes flickered at the motion and Liz knew she had to end this game _now_. It was too dangerous. Deliberately, she slid her hand out from under his too hot palm and grabbed the tape beside her, quickly cutting off long strips and then lining the edges of his bandage, careful not to touch him for too long.

When she was done, she straightened and took three big steps back, looking only at his face despite his own wandering eyes. Sucking in a breath, she took the old bandage to the garbage and threw it away, telling him matter-of-fact, "Come back tomorrow and get that changed again."

"Will you be here?"

Her head snapped up but Minho was in the middle of putting his shirt back on, working the buttons much faster this time around.

"Maybe." She said, feeling oddly vulnerable.

Minho finished buttoning his shirt and looked up at her. He made a move like to step towards her and then stopped, hands falling to his sides. "Thanks, Liz."

She bit her lip and nodded and Minho turned and was out the door. As soon as it shut her eyes closed and her hand came up, shaking, to cover her mouth, the room closing around her in a burning silence.

What the hell had she just started?

* * *

Outside, Minho raised a hand and rubbed his chest, feeling a fire that hadn't been there before.

* * *

 **AN** – Wow, big response last chapter—huzzah! Glad you all enjoyed Liz and Minho… I've been dying to finally get to the point that I could write them together. It was a shifting point and now a lot more of this story is going to be focused on these two, so that's fun. And the last bit of this chapter was _super_ fun. Heh.

Thank you everyone for the reviews! It is really encouraging. I hope you're looking forward to the next chapter… because with what I have planned it might be my favorite so far. But don't freak if the update comes slower. I have to do some traveling for family, so it will be about two weeks from now, but no fear!

Thanks again everyone!

Later Gladers,

\- RevolutionNow


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